by Diana Hockley
Enjoy this never before published mystery short story.
“Do you think you can do it?” he asked.
“I know I can!” she purred. “And if I can, will I get the job?”
“Yeah. Go for it. Knock yourself out, sweetheart.”
. . .
“Go on, you can do it! Kill yourself!” hissed the voice.
“Go away!” he snarled, flapping his hand around his head.
“I beg your pardon?” the nurse attending asked, bosom heaving with outrage as she smoothed her uniform, eyes flashing.
“Not you! I was…er…swatting a fly!” he explained weakly.
“Where? How could a fly get into a hospital?” she squeaked, wild-eyed.
He charged into the ward. “My dear Mrs Murray,” he oozed, “How are we feeling today?”
She hauled herself up in bed, twitched the top of her nightgown lower and pouted her pneumatic red lips. “Oh doctor, I’ve got pains…here…here…and here…” She pointed with a sleek, red-tipped claw, plasticised breasts jutting playfully.
He felt as though he was trapped in the bottom of kerosene tin.
“Go on, it would be so easy…just do it…just do it…come on…it won’t hurt a bit…” the voice promised seductively in his ear. He backed away from the bed, turned and ran blindly into the corridor, white coat and stethoscope flying, eyes wide with panic.
“Doctor! Doctor, what’s the matter? Someone come quickly, Doctor James has gone mad!” shrieked a nurse as he sprinted toward the full-length windows at the end of the corridor.
Staff held out their arms to stop him; patients flattened themselves against the wall, clutching their dressing-gowns protectively against their stomachs. An orderly pushed a low-slung trolley into his path. He hurdled it with the skill and panache of an Olympian and picked up speed.
The voice chanted urgently. “Kill yourself, kill yourself–kill yourself !”
Flinging himself at the glass, he crashed through, down…down…onto the sling below and bounced off onto the ground, where he lay like a stranded starfish.
“Cut!” shouted the Director. “Good work. You can get up now, Robbie, it’s a take!”
The director, assorted cameramen, gaffers and continuity girl crowded around, peering down at the star of the daytime soap.
“Voice-over” slithered forward and joined the group.
“Joyce,” snarled the Director, “he wasn’t supposed to actually kill himself! You weren’t supposed to drive him to do it!”
“I told you I could!” she purred. “Does that mean I’m hired?”
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