Soul Awakening
By Doug Simpson
By Doug Simpson
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If you missed out yesterday's post, catch Chapter Three here.
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Chapter 4
The Tumble
Dacque headed south for his morning walk, curiously wondering if he would be redirected once again. Not this time. He encountered his first red light at Lemon Avenue, and did not wait, venturing east along Lemon. His next red light appeared well into the downtown core, at 2nd Street, but conveniently changed to green as he approached the corner. Dacque did not miss a stride and proceeded to cross 2nd Street, until his attention was directed to his right by a blaring car horn.
The next thing that Dacque could recall was someone helping him back to his feet and the merciless throbbing in his right knee.
"Are you okay, sir?" a tall, football-player-built man in an obviously expensive suit, asked. He had assisted Dacque back up onto his left foot. Standing on his right foot was not an option, at least for the moment, anyway.
"I think so, but my right knee is killing me."
"My office building is right here on the corner. Let me help you in there. There are a number of chairs and couches in the foyer. You can rest up a while until you are feeling better," the well dressed man suggested.
The Good-Samaritan assisted Dacque to hobble into the foyer of the office building, and eased him onto a couch.
"Thank you, very much," Dacque said. "I can move my knee a bit now, so hopefully nothing is broken."
"That's good news. I see you scraped your left palm. Let's check and see if you have any more." Dacque held out his forearms and both of them carried out an inspection, spotting, at approximately the same instant, a companion scrape on his right elbow. "Neither one of those looks too life-threatening," he told Dacque. "We had better have a look at that right knee."
Dacque pulled up the leg of his slacks. There was another scrape on the knee, but more disturbing was the swelling that was already building around the kneecap. "I don't like that swelling," the young man stated. "Can I call you an ambulance or a taxi? You should have that knee looked at."
"I'll be fine," Dacque assured him. "I'll just sit here a while until I feel better and then be on my way."
"I wish I could spend more time with you, but I need to get upstairs for an important meeting that starts in a few minutes. Are you certain that there is nothing more I can do for you?"
"I'll be fine. Thank you for your help." Dacque watched the well-dressed gentleman head for the elevator and disappear through the open door in a crowd of people. He sat there for a while on the couch, and watched the workers hurry-by on their way to the elevators, while cautiously flexing his sore knee to test its mobility.
Some minutes later, a well-dressed, middle-aged woman hurried out of one of the elevators with a strange looking box under her arm, and walked towards Dacque. She sat down beside him. "My name is Sara. My boss, Mr. Winston, asked me to come down and see if you were still here, and if you were, to clean up your scrapes." She opened up the first-aid kit.
"They're not serious. I'll be fine."
"Never you mind," Sara said with authority. "You sound just like my father. Let's see those scrapes."
Sara doctored the scrapes on his palm and elbow. "Okay, let's have a look at the knee, next." Dacque pulled up the leg on his slacks again, and Sara also disinfected that scrape. "There's a lot of swelling there. Mr. Winston said you would not go to the hospital, but you better have someone look at it. Is there anyone we can call to come and get you?"
Dacque started to shake his head, but stopped. He reached for his wallet and handed Sara the piece of paper with Dani's name and cell-phone number on it. "She may be home and could come and get me."
Sara stood up. "I'll call her. What is your name, sir?"
"Dacque, spelled D..a..c..q..u..e."
When Sara exited the elevator on the eighth floor, she was surprised to see Max Winston in the outer-office. "What happened to your meeting?"
"The boys have some points to settle amongst themselves, so I suggested that they call me when they have an agreement. How is Mr. Wounded-Knee?"
"I doctored his scrapes, but the knee needs to be looked at. He gave me the name of someone to call, but did not say who she was. I'll call her."
"Why don't you let me call her. I can give her the details on how he fell. Did he mention his name?"
Sara handed Max the paper. "Dacque, spelled D..a..c..q..u..e."
Max took the paper and went into his office.
"Hello!" a cheerful voice said at the other end of the line."
"Hello, is this Dani?"
"Yes."
"You don't know me, Dani. My name is Max Winston. Are you related to an elderly gentleman named Dacque?"
"We are not related, but I know him. Is there something wrong?"
"He had a little accident this morning, downtown. He's okay, but he banged up his right knee pretty good."
"Was he hit by a car?"
"No. He was crossing 2nd Street at Lemon. I was a couple of steps behind him, and some guy leaned on his car horn out in the intersection. I suspect Dacque was distracted just as he was stepping up onto the far curb and probably stubbed his toe, throwing himself onto the sidewalk, face first."
"Oh Lordy!"
"My secretary doctored his scrapes, but his knee is rather swollen. He refused to got to the hospital, but he gave her a paper with your name and number on it. If you are able to, I would like to suggest that you pick him up and take him to the hospital for a check-up, whether he likes it or not."
"I'm on my way. Thank you, Max, for all of your assistance."
Max gave Dani the directions to his office building. He suggested that she approach it from the east and stop directly in front of the double doors in the no-parking zone, which many drivers used to pick-up or drop-off passengers.
The Tumble
Dacque headed south for his morning walk, curiously wondering if he would be redirected once again. Not this time. He encountered his first red light at Lemon Avenue, and did not wait, venturing east along Lemon. His next red light appeared well into the downtown core, at 2nd Street, but conveniently changed to green as he approached the corner. Dacque did not miss a stride and proceeded to cross 2nd Street, until his attention was directed to his right by a blaring car horn.
The next thing that Dacque could recall was someone helping him back to his feet and the merciless throbbing in his right knee.
"Are you okay, sir?" a tall, football-player-built man in an obviously expensive suit, asked. He had assisted Dacque back up onto his left foot. Standing on his right foot was not an option, at least for the moment, anyway.
"I think so, but my right knee is killing me."
"My office building is right here on the corner. Let me help you in there. There are a number of chairs and couches in the foyer. You can rest up a while until you are feeling better," the well dressed man suggested.
The Good-Samaritan assisted Dacque to hobble into the foyer of the office building, and eased him onto a couch.
"Thank you, very much," Dacque said. "I can move my knee a bit now, so hopefully nothing is broken."
"That's good news. I see you scraped your left palm. Let's check and see if you have any more." Dacque held out his forearms and both of them carried out an inspection, spotting, at approximately the same instant, a companion scrape on his right elbow. "Neither one of those looks too life-threatening," he told Dacque. "We had better have a look at that right knee."
Dacque pulled up the leg of his slacks. There was another scrape on the knee, but more disturbing was the swelling that was already building around the kneecap. "I don't like that swelling," the young man stated. "Can I call you an ambulance or a taxi? You should have that knee looked at."
"I'll be fine," Dacque assured him. "I'll just sit here a while until I feel better and then be on my way."
"I wish I could spend more time with you, but I need to get upstairs for an important meeting that starts in a few minutes. Are you certain that there is nothing more I can do for you?"
"I'll be fine. Thank you for your help." Dacque watched the well-dressed gentleman head for the elevator and disappear through the open door in a crowd of people. He sat there for a while on the couch, and watched the workers hurry-by on their way to the elevators, while cautiously flexing his sore knee to test its mobility.
Some minutes later, a well-dressed, middle-aged woman hurried out of one of the elevators with a strange looking box under her arm, and walked towards Dacque. She sat down beside him. "My name is Sara. My boss, Mr. Winston, asked me to come down and see if you were still here, and if you were, to clean up your scrapes." She opened up the first-aid kit.
"They're not serious. I'll be fine."
"Never you mind," Sara said with authority. "You sound just like my father. Let's see those scrapes."
Sara doctored the scrapes on his palm and elbow. "Okay, let's have a look at the knee, next." Dacque pulled up the leg on his slacks again, and Sara also disinfected that scrape. "There's a lot of swelling there. Mr. Winston said you would not go to the hospital, but you better have someone look at it. Is there anyone we can call to come and get you?"
Dacque started to shake his head, but stopped. He reached for his wallet and handed Sara the piece of paper with Dani's name and cell-phone number on it. "She may be home and could come and get me."
Sara stood up. "I'll call her. What is your name, sir?"
"Dacque, spelled D..a..c..q..u..e."
When Sara exited the elevator on the eighth floor, she was surprised to see Max Winston in the outer-office. "What happened to your meeting?"
"The boys have some points to settle amongst themselves, so I suggested that they call me when they have an agreement. How is Mr. Wounded-Knee?"
"I doctored his scrapes, but the knee needs to be looked at. He gave me the name of someone to call, but did not say who she was. I'll call her."
"Why don't you let me call her. I can give her the details on how he fell. Did he mention his name?"
Sara handed Max the paper. "Dacque, spelled D..a..c..q..u..e."
Max took the paper and went into his office.
"Hello!" a cheerful voice said at the other end of the line."
"Hello, is this Dani?"
"Yes."
"You don't know me, Dani. My name is Max Winston. Are you related to an elderly gentleman named Dacque?"
"We are not related, but I know him. Is there something wrong?"
"He had a little accident this morning, downtown. He's okay, but he banged up his right knee pretty good."
"Was he hit by a car?"
"No. He was crossing 2nd Street at Lemon. I was a couple of steps behind him, and some guy leaned on his car horn out in the intersection. I suspect Dacque was distracted just as he was stepping up onto the far curb and probably stubbed his toe, throwing himself onto the sidewalk, face first."
"Oh Lordy!"
"My secretary doctored his scrapes, but his knee is rather swollen. He refused to got to the hospital, but he gave her a paper with your name and number on it. If you are able to, I would like to suggest that you pick him up and take him to the hospital for a check-up, whether he likes it or not."
"I'm on my way. Thank you, Max, for all of your assistance."
Max gave Dani the directions to his office building. He suggested that she approach it from the east and stop directly in front of the double doors in the no-parking zone, which many drivers used to pick-up or drop-off passengers.
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Soul Awakening is part of the 12 days of Christmas feature here at Downright Fiction. Every day will see a new chapter excerpt on the website. Come back for Chapter 5 tomorrow!
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Doug Simpson is a retired high school teacher who has turned his talents to writing. His magazine and website articles have been published in the United States, the United Kingdom, Canada, Australia, France and India. Soul Awakening is his first novel. Read more about Doug at dousimp.mnsi.net!
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