A STRANGER IN MY HEART (Thomas Garet series)

Local stations went agog with the news. A stranger in town gunned down by Ellicott City resident, Charles Taylor.

Taylor had a history of madness but recently had lived clean for months with his daughter, Charlotte. Many had argued Taylor feigned his condition but different psychologists and psychiatrists who examined him concluded he was mentally ill but could be treated. Since he was discharged more than four months earlier, he had been calm.

Lacy stared at the news from her real estate front office post. “Coulda been anyone,” she muttered.

The crowd scattered around the fallen man while Taylor waved his weapon and cussed. Bold onlookers recorded on their phones and devices. Cops arrived shortly and downed the mad man with a stun gun.

“America is full of angry people.” She turned to her work. But sighed. “Coulda been me. Dear Lord.” She walked that lane every day to her house a couple of blocks away.

What on earth was Charles Taylor doing with a gun? How did someone with a history of mental instability get arms?

Lacy was working late as she did most days but this just made her so miserable. On the average, Ellicott City was safe. She had lived here all her life despite her aunt’s constant prodding to move to Union Bridge.

She looked at the screen ahead again and her jaw sagged. The identity of the victim had been revealed. He was now in the county hospital in the emergency room, alive but in a critical condition, and WBAL 4 had a picture taken from his backpack.

His shaggy dark blond hair looked like a hand just ran through it and he stared at the camera with a tinge of defiance around his mouth, his green eyes bright enough to singe even through the screen.

“Oh dear, he’s here.” Lacy checked the time from her Tinkerbelle silver-strap watch and gasped. It’s 9pm already. She didn’t know she’d stayed so late.

She packed her bags and rushed out of the building.

“Another late night for you, Miss,” Brandon, the night guard waved at her.

“Yes, Brandon. Stay safe. Good night.” She waved down a taxi. She never drove to work. Now she wished she did.

“Good night, Miss Lacy.” He raised his voice. “Are you alright?”

“Will be,” she said before she got into the cab. “County hospital. Thank you.”

A few reporters hung around the parking lot, waiting for more news on Thomas Garet. Will he survive? While in the cab, Lacy listened to a local radio station do an analysis of Taylor’s condition and veered into the gun laws debate.

At the hospital, she went to the reception. “I know the Taylor victim,” she said, breathless. “He is a hiker. I brought him almost to Ellicott City. Is he alive?”

The intern arched her eyebrow and swatted off imaginary strands of her salt and pepper hair from her eyes. “What’s your name please?”

“His name is Thomas Garet.”

“I mean, your name.”

“Oh, Lacy. Lacy Kintley.”

The young lady waved toward the waiting area. “Please wait.”

Three hours later, Lacy finally got hold of one of the doctors on duty, who could give her information on Thomas. He was safe but no one would be allowed to see him till he was strong enough to decide.

“He’s lucky,” Doctor Florand said. “He’s got thick skin.”

Lacy chose to wait till Thomas came out of the OR. She was allowed to peep through a small opening of the door. She murmured a soft prayer for him. He looked so peaceful and she prayed he was.

On her way home in the early hours of the following day, she wondered why he’d come off her car. He knew she was coming here to Ellicott City.

“Lord, please keep Thomas Garet safe. Let him live. I don’t know what happened to him, why he’s so far removed from social warmth but I know he needs you. Give him a chance to find you…”

Lacy opened the door to her one-room condo and for a long time, wept into her hands as she prayed for the stranger who she couldn’t stop thinking about.

 

Author bio:

Sinmisola Ogúnyinka is a pastor’s wife, mother, writer and movie producer. She has a university degree in Economics, and is a Craftsman of Christian Writers’ Guild. She lives with her family in Pretoria, South Africa.

Blog: www.sinmisolao.wordpress.com

Twitter: @sinmisolaog

 

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