John let out a long exhale and slowly let go of the anger he had been feeling for the few hours. “I suppose I couldn’t ask for a better view” he thought as he stared out at the lake. He always felt better looking past the trees to the secluded shoreline. Many years earlier he had been living on the southern shore of the same lake, but there were always loud parties and boat traffic nearby. This was much better, nobody to make noise and no neighbors to draw the curtains for.
The view was commanding, a clear blue lake framed by tall cedars. He loved this view, even in the middle of winter. He had worked hard for this and wasn’t going to give it up without a fight. That judge last year had certainly understood, and it certainly helped that John had Dr Philips in his pocket in convincing him that John was still more than capable of living on his own, though with limited assistance. Having his driver’s license revoked was a bit of a blow, though not entirely unexpected.
That agency found Shelly, his home assistant. “This will definitely be one time I’m looking forward to seeing her” John thought. It wasn’t that he disliked her, more that he resented that she was necessary. Pleasant enough, with an easy smile and a sensible style, she was well past retirement age yet still working. There seemed to be resentment on both sides, and John had told her once that it wasn’t his fault for poor decisions in her past. That had not gone over well.
“She’s late” John thought to himself. The one time I really, really need her, she’s freaking late.” Then he had a thought. “Oh my god, is she going to wig out when she finds me” he thought to himself and chuckled, then winced at the sharp pain in his side. “What a fucking mess.” Laying on the floor, he surveyed the damage. There was a bookcase, on top of him. It pinned his left arm and leg to the floor. While he had a decent view of the living room and the lake beyond to his right, behind him the couch limited his view to the kitchen cabinets and the ceiling of the adjoining hall, although the empty space on the upper wall seemed to suggest something. John looked back to the lake. It was getting dark. “Damn rotator cuff” he thought as he struggled again. It was no use. Even with two good arms, he would have had considerable difficulty lifting this thing. This big wooden thing. He felt nauseous. And thirsty.
Where was she? Shelly wasn’t punctual, but she should have been here by now. What time was she supposed to be there? What was today? John thought back to a shouting match some months ago where he had lost track and accused her of blowing him off. Had she been there today already? This was bad. Perhaps he had misjudged and she was coming tomorrow. Even if she had come earlier today, she would still be there within 48 hours, give or take. Every other day, that’s what the agency had guaranteed. Still, this was not good. Somewhere he remembered that most people can survive 3-4 days without water. “That gives me at least a good day or two of cushion” he thought. “I need to conserve my energy” After a while, he drifted off to sleep.
His dreams were disturbing. Something nameless and dark was pursuing him. He ran down the sidewalk in agonizingly slow, labored steps. Faceless shapes turned as if to stare, accusingly. The weight on his limbs making each movement agonizingly slow. He felt something cold along his back. John awoke with a start, noticing at once the throbbing needles in his leg and arm, his pajamas and robe moist with sweat. And urine. He had pissed himself.
The sun was coming up. His mouth was parched and dry. What was going on? Where was he? He looked around to see. Bookcase. Leg. Arm. Floor. How did this happen? Where was that lady? The one with the smile? Had he missed her scheduled visit? Had she visited and he had forgotten it? Yes, he was forgetful, but he reminded himself that his condition was more than just memory loss. He rocked the bookcase, testing it. He could feel a grinding above his knee, but the pain seemed dulled by a prickly numbness. Grunting with exertion, he was able to extract the limb, inch by inch, ignoring the increasingly sharp sensation of pain in his leg. Finally his arm was free. He felt a wave of nausea as the pain increased, first in his arm as the blood rushed back in, then in his leg. He lay there for a while, and when he had recovered his breathing, he took an assessment. While he now had both arms free, the bookcase was still too heavy to lift from this position, while he had almost certainly fractured his leg or hip. At least he could lean up higher to better survey the room. Perhaps there was something he missed, something he could use to free himself or signal for help. He craned his neck, looking over the couch when he spotted it. White. Oblong. A shoe, flecked with red. A sensible shoe.