She ran up and down Skater Street desperately trying to find the detectives. She had the address but every time she lifted to read off the small crinkled paper a rain drop would land, smudging and drowning away the words. Looking down, huddling most of her body over her new watercolor picture, she nudged forcefully into someone. When she looked up she noticed a tall, lanky man wearing a checkered scarf, dark over coat and deerstalker on his his head. His face was pointed and solemn. As she mustered up an apology he quickly interrupted, “That Rorschach Test you are clutching in your fists – I am the one you are searching for.” With a great sigh of relief she walked into the brownstone, shaking off her shoes and hair at the entrance to remove any excess water she could. It didn’t work. She still looked like a drowned cat. Puddling where she stood she sat down adjacent to the man she violently shoved outside and his partner, John Wetstone.
“So what seems to be the issue Mrs….”
“Kinsley. You can call me Kinsley”.
“It all started a few months ago. I felt as if I was being followed”. She wiped away droplets from her brow and continued, “I know this is going to sound crazy. I haven’t actually seen or heard anything but I have evidence that someone must be attacking me and my family. I don’t know how and I can’t explain what it is that I have. I have tried talking to everyone from police to psychics and everyone thinks I am making it up or that it’s dream activated by one of my kids imaginative drawings. This is everything I have.” She leaned forward pausing before sliding a brown envelope across the coffee table in front of her. “I know it doesn’t all make sense, but that is why I searched for you. I heard that you take these kind of cases.”
Wetstone reached for the envelope, unraveled the tie on the back and pulled out the thin stack of papers inside. When he turned the envelope upside down, unknowingly, a photograph dropped out landing with only the corner showing from under the couch. As Wetstone flipped through the pages, Sherman, the tall, mysterious detective, grabbed at the image from beneath the couch. The photograph looked like one of those black and white pictures claiming to have finally captured the Loch Ness Monster on film in the 50’s. Wetstone began to open his mouth but Sherman quickly interjected, “You believe that the mythed Streptococcus monster has returned and that is what is stalking you? You are aware that if it was the Streptococcus monster that his modus operandi is primarily the attacking of individuals between the ages of 5 and 15. Only 10 percent of his victims have fallen above the age of 20.”
“Yes. I understand that I am an unusual choice in victim, but it doesn’t make it any less true.”
“We will take your case Mrs. Kinsley and we will call you with further notice.”
She jotted her number down on the brown envelope with her name, dotting her i with a heart. Excitedly she shook Wetstone’s hand and when she reached reached out to shake Sherman’s hand she found herself at the door with it quickly being closed behind her. Wetstone yelled out, “We’ll call you if we find anything. Don’t worry Mrs. Kinsley we will figure this out!”I spent a good three hours of my day yesterday chasing down prescriptions in this town. Me and my girls were all diagnosed with strep for the third time this year and our prescriptions were sent in electronically by our doctors around 2 to the pharmacy we regularly use. This pharmacy is notorious for being extremely slow. Waiting for a prescription freshly dropped off is not an option. The wait time is always a minimum of 2 hours no matter how crowded it is. When I hadn’t received a call from the pharmacy by five stating my prescription was ready, I decided to go down myself and check the status. (Reaching them on the phone is not an option unless you enjoy being placed on hold for an ungodly amount of time). After 45 minutes waiting in line I finally reached the window. I discovered that this was the first time that they have reviewed what my order was and I learned quickly that they wouldn’t have the medication in stock until mid next week. This I found unacceptable. We could not wait around four to five days with strep cultivating in our throats.
I demanded a solution. They sat on the prescription for hours before picking it up and viewing it. If they had looked at it in the three hour window they had it when my doctors office was still open they could have called the doctor and requested a different prescription. Unfortunately the damage was done and I wasn’t giving up my stand. I told them to find my medication in town. They called around to all the pharmacies in town and found one that had it. The pharmacy that had my medication claimed to be too busy to take the call and that they should call back at another time. With this news I jumped in my car, holding in my hand a soda that I had forgotten to pay for, and drove down to the pharmacy hoping that my tired, desperate, sick looking face could help inspire the pharmacist to help a mother out who was trying to heal her children.
I arrived and noticed a completely empty pharmacy and overheard the pharmacist taking down my prescriptions over the phone. He hung up angrily and yelled at his assistants, “Don’t promise anything else tonight. I don’t think we can fill anymore because of the one coming in for the kid’s penicillin.” I walked up to the counter and introduced myself as the one gratefully waiting for this prescription but his hostility didn’t end there.
To be continued…