EXCERPT FROM IMPOSTER
By
"GOOD HEAVENS!" THE
bespectacled, fifty something coroner startled, abruptly stopping short as he
was about to perform the post mortem on the severely bruised corpse brought in
a few minutes ago with nearly half its face nothing but caved in dried blood
and gore. A low moan escaped its lips
and one dazed amber eye slowly blinked open.
The other one was swollen shut.
"What the devil...? You're
alive!" The coroner stuttered his
colourless pale-grey eyes behind wire rimmed glasses, almost popped out of
their sockets.
"Where am I? This don't look like either Heaven or Hell, an' yer sure as hell don't look like the man upstairs or the
other fella below." With extreme difficulty, Kenn Michael
Harrison raised himself and sat up on the sterile steel slab that was the
operating table. The white sheet
covering him slid down to just below his waist.
"Yeah, I s'pose I must be back on ol' terra ferma. They must
not 'ave wanted me up there or down below after all.
Damn! Every bleedin'
bone in m'body feels like I've been run over by a
tank."
“Stay where you are!" The
coroner commanded. Recovering from his
initial shock, in his typically pragmatic British manner, he stalked over to
the phone on his paper and file littered desk.
"Ain't goin'
nowhere guv'.
From the feel o' me right now, I'd say I'm stark naked and I don't think
the public's ready fer this magnificent
sight." Kenn lifted the sheet and
looked down at his lower half. It was
intact, thank goodness. "But Jesus
H. Christ, everything hurts like bloody hell!"
Despite of himself the coroner smiled then proceeded to make the call.
"You better send someone down here, STAT! Apparently, the corpse that was brought in
half hour ago, is still alive and kicking!" He barked to the person on the other end.
The coroner hung up the phone again and glanced at the man on the
table. Despite being
desensitized to all the unpleasant sights he had witnessed during his
lifetime in this profession, he felt pity for the man when he did have a chance
to see his face. It
was not an event the coroner wanted to witness. But at least the
chap had a sense of humour.
Two orderlies appeared with a stretcher within minutes after the
coroner hung up the phone, and took Kenn upstairs to the hospital. Once there, he was immediately taken to the
operating theatre, anaesthetized and God alone knows what the
hell they did. Because when next
he awoke, Kenn felt like an Egyptian mummy, all swathed in bandages with holes
for him to see, hear, speak and eat.
* *
* * *
NEXT DAY KENN HAD A NURSE DIAL MARK Hammond's
number in
Poor Mark, he almost went into cardiac arrest upon hearing Kenn's voice. He
could hardly wait to get off the phone and drive down to the hospital in
During the time that Kenn waited for Mark to arrive, he had his first
visitor. One he would have preferred not
to see, and wondered who the devil had told the man.
"Kenn Michael? Are you
awake?" Lance asked softly as he
entered the room.
"Yeah." Kenn grunted.
"What are yer doin'
here?"
"So it is true after all. You really did survive. I'm
glad." Lance said as he sat down in
the visitor seat beside Kenn's bed. Saville Row clad,
six feet four inches tall, dark, handsome and aristocratic. Despite the limp
that required him to use a silver-handled walking stick, Lance radiated power
and confidence that his position as the president and CEO of one of the world's
largest conglomerates dictated.
"Are yer really?" Kenn rasped with thinly veiled hostility,
staring straight ahead through the hole left open over
his good eye.
"Why would you believe otherwise?" Lance felt the other man's resentment and
knew the reason for it, and even understood it.
Had the situation been reversed, Lance knew he
would have felt the same.
"I don't know, yer
tell me. Anyway, why did yer come?"
"Look Kenn Michael, I
understand that you have every right to be resentful after what happened. I
wish I could change the way things turned out but I can't. However, I can remedy part of the
situation."
"What are yer talking about?"
"I spoke to the doctor before coming to see you...."
"So?"
"While your facial injuries are pretty serious, it's not a
hopeless situation. With reconstructive
surgery, you can lead a normal life again.
And apart from a few fractured ribs, there was
no other serious injury, so you're lucky in that sense. I've taken the
liberty to arrange your admittance to Dr. Harold Gray's
clinic in
"What?"
"I'd like you to go with a completely different look..."
"GET THE FUCK OUTTA HERE LANCE!
NOW!"
Kenn snarled, enraged at the nerve of the man at asking him to disappear
in not so many words. He reached for the
buzzer to summon someone to come and have the man thrown out, but Lance quickly
reached over and firmly restrained Kenn's hand.
"Listen man, I know you love Jennifer‑Claire, but she has
chosen me. Prove that you really love
her and have her best interests at heart.
Let her have a life without being torn in two
different directions man. You don't have to accept my offer if you don't want
to, but I'm asking you to do so for Claire's sake."
Kenn stared up at the other man, still enraged, but also stunned at
Lance's insecurity. However, when Kenn
thought about her and how much he really loved her and only wanted the best for
her, he was left with no alternative but to do what Lance
had asked.
"My Gawd, yer
are threatened by her feelings fer me....." Kenn
shook his head, feeling a sense of victory over the other man, but happy to
witness that Lance was human after all.
However, Kenn still knew that Lance Stevens was not a man he wanted to
cross.
"Put yourself into my shoes Kenn Michael, just for a moment, and
tell me that you wouldn't feel the same."
"I suppose I would mate," Kenn admitted honestly.
"So you'll do it?"
"Yes, but strictly fer
her sake."
"Thank you Kenn Michael, I knew you'd understand."
"Now if yer don't mind. I'd like to be
alone." Suddenly as though
remembering something else, Kenn stopped him again as
Lance got up to leave.
"Lance?"
"Yes?"
"How is she?"
"She's going to be all right, the gunshot wasn't too serious. The doctor was able to remove the bullet and
stabilize her without having to bring her to the hospital. Claire has the constitution of a horse and I
wouldn't be surprised if she's up and around by the time I get back." Lance said with a boyish grin. "She was already chafing at having to
stay in bed and rest all day."
"I'm glad she's goin' t'be all right. What about
"His body will be flown back to
"Anyway, if yer don't mind, I'd really
like to be alone now. I'd say give my regards to Jenny, but I can't do that
now, can I?" Kenn swallowed hard on
the constricting lump in his throat, and injected steel into his voice as he
looked away from Lance, at the dull, grey day outside the window. "Go now Lance."
“Very well,” Lance got up and left the room.
He never saw the watering of Kenn's one
un-bandaged eye, or the single tear that coursed down and dampened the bandages
just below it.
Kenn lay there pondering his decision for a long while after Lance
left, and came close to reneging in his promise. Then he thought about Claire and remembered
how he only wanted her happiness. And if Lance was the one who would make her happy, then so
be it.
Mark arrived about half-hour later, and when Kenn apprised him of his
intention, Mark thought that along with part of his face, Kenn had also lost
his mind. Soon after Mark arrived, so
did an orderly, to change the sheets on the bed. Between him and Mark, they helped Kenn into
the extra visitors' chair. Neither of
the men paid any attention to the orderly and continued talking. Meanwhile the orderly made up the bed with
clean sheets.
"A new face yes, because it's necessary, but a
new identity? Why?" Mark asked, perplexed.
"I've got m'reasons ol'
chap." Kenn replied
enigmatically. He chose not to tell Mark
that the visit from Lance Stevens had everything to do with his decision.
"I think you should at least talk to someone first..."
"I don't need a fuckin' shrink
Mark!" Kenn snapped. "I need yer
help. We've
been mates fer a long time an' this is the first time
I'm asking fer one major favour. So, are yer with me
or not?"
"All right." Mark agreed resignedly, unable to refuse Kenn
anything. Apart from being his business
partner, Kenn had also taken the place of the son Mark
had had, but who never lived to become an adult.
"First of all, I still want yer to
arrange the funeral. Closed
casket. Then I want yer t'spring me the hell outta here an' take me to it."
"Man you're crazy."
"Like a bed bug. But no
better way to find out how much people thought of yer,
than attendin' yer own
funeral."
* *
* * *
TIM CAREY COULDN'T BELIEVE his good fortune, as he
listened to the conversation between the two men, while he made the bed. A venal, down on his luck, thirty‑something
rock music groupie who had long decided that the world owed him a living, Tim knew who the injured man was. Just two nights ago it was believed that he was going to make a comeback
when he got on stage in
Nigel Cotten, one of the orderlies who had
brought Kenn up from the morgue, had recognized the former rock star despite
his injuries and had mentioned it to Tim, his good mate. Tim on the lookout for
any opportunity that would help him land the good life, had boldly walked into
the hospital, sneaked an orderly's uniform from his friend's locker and
pretended to be one of the staff. He had
also stolen a dictation tape recorder from a secretary's office, then furtively hung around outside the former rock star's
room waiting to see who visited. While he had missed Lance's visit, he
considered himself having struck gold when Mark Hammond arrived and entered the
patient's room. Upon seeing a young
female nurse's aide with fresh sheets for patient's bed, also about to enter
the room, Tim had offered to do the task for her. Preoccupied with something else on her mind,
she had been only too happy to let Tim take over.
Now here was the former rock
star was all bandaged up, talking about changing his
face and identity. Along with intrigue, Tim smelled the opportunity he was
seeking here, like a hunting dog on a fresh fox trail. Thank heavens for the
little tape recorder in his pocket recording every word. He could have notified the press, but Tim
decided to hold out for bigger and better stakes, and
this conversation was going to be his ticket to the good life. He didn't know how
long it would be in coming, but Tim was as certain as the
The next day Tim heard the news of funeral services being
arranged for the former rock star.
He reached for the tape that he still had in his jeans-pocket and smiled
smugly.
One day you are going to
make me a very rich bloke Mr. Harrison.