The Package

When Neville Brannig regained consciousness, his location was unknown. The walls were off-color, things were blurry, and his head felt like it was being weighed down by a bowling ball. He raised his hand to his head and felt some sort of fabric encasing his head like a rugby helmet.

“Here,” said a nasally voice to his right, “don’t be mucking about with the bandages.”

Bandages?! Thought Neville.

“And for God's sake leave them lines in your arm.”

That’s when he noticed there were several tubes stuck into his skin.

“Bloody hell!” Neville cried out. “I’m in the hospital!”

“Course you’re in the hospital!” scoffed the nasally voice. “Where’d you think you’d be? Breighton? I’m Adelaide. I’m your nurse. Or I am for another three hours, then me shift is done, and I can go home. You can’t come with me though. I’m a girl who likes her privacy.”

“What?” Neville was only catching every third or fourth word.

“Never mind, love,” said Adelaide, disappointed her joke wasn’t well received.

“What happened?”

“You don’t remember?” she asked, concernedly.

“Does that matter?!” Neville spat at her.

“Alright,” she said, touching his arm in a motherly gesture. “It’s alright. You just lie back and I’ll go get the doctor, yeah?”

After she helped lower him to the bed, she went to the door to call for the doctor. In a minute, a tall, wiry gent with prominent cheekbones and a white coat came in.

“Hello, Neville, I’m Doctor Smith. What can you tell me about the accident?”

“Accident?” Neville queried. He tried to recollect what happened to land him in the hospital. Suddenly, something came to him. “I think I remember a bicycle.”

“Right,” said the Doctor. “You were in an accident on your bicycle. It rang your bells pretty hard. Cracked skull, broken arm, broken leg, a roadmap of bumps and bruises. All in all, lad, you were pretty lucky. It could’ve been much worse.

“Now, then,” the Doctor continued, “if you’re up to it, there are a couple of police officers looking to have a word.”

“About the accident?”

“That’s right. That alright?”

Neville could only nod. The doctor exited. Nurse Adelaide told him to buzz her if he needed anything, then followed the doctor. A few, long minutes later, a pair of suits came into the room. Neville’s eyes locked onto the eyes of the female. Her features were serious but childlike and comforting, dressed smartly in a tan blazer and black shirt and pants. Her counterpart, a large, stocky man who looked like he ate one too many buns from the bakery, wore a scornful, accusatory expression. This caught Neville off guard considering he, Neville, was the one in the hospital bed.

“Hello, Neville,” said the lady. “I’m Detective Eshings. This is my partner, Detective Shanahan. We need to ask you questions about your accident. Do you feel up to it?” She received a nod. “Okay, thank you. The accident occurred at approximately what time?”

“Uh, things are still a little fuzzy,” he said, trying to remember. “A little afternoon, I think it was. I picked up a package around ten till noon from our facility. I remember crossing Briar, headed South on Euclid. That’s when I got hit.”

“Did you see who hit you?” asked Detective Eshings.

“No, they were behind me. I think they hit the back wheel and threw me. Then, I bounced off a parked car.”

“Witnesses say,” began Detective Shanahan, “it was a black Jaguar that hit you. Then, it skidded to a stop close by, the passenger got out of the car, picked up something off the street, then drove off. You said you were delivering a package?”

“That’s right.”

“What kind of a package was it?” Shanahan pressed.

“Just a package wrapped in brown paper, bit bigger than a shoebox, I reckon.”

“Know what was in the package?” Eshings asked.

“Course not,” Neville said. “You’re never supposed to look in the packages.”

“Got word from investigators at the scene,” Shanahan said, accusingly. “There was no brown paper package recovered. It’s likely that’s what was taken.”

“What?” Neville’s senses were coming more into focus. “Wait a minute, am I a suspect?”

“You could be in on it,” Shanahan said, matter of factly.

“Oh, that’s rich, innit?” Neville scoffed. “I’m the one in the hospital, mate.” For emphasis, he raised his left arm bound in a cast. “Do you really think….”

“We’re not charging you, Mr. Brannig,” Eshings said in a calm, caring voice, “but we wouldn’t be doing our jobs if we didn’t question the situation. Please understand that.” She waited until Neville had simmered down before she continued. “Where were you delivering the package?”

“Sojourner Street, Upper Flagley.”

“Remember to who?” she asked him.

“No, I don’t. I look at addresses, not names. I show up, set what I got in with the post or on the porch, ring the bell, and that’s it.”

“You don’t make contact?”

“Look, mate, I took this job because I can usually avoid contact. I don’t like associating with people, do I?”

“You’re handling our interaction well,” Eshings said.

“That’s only because I got to, innit?” he said, indignantly. “Look, detectives, I know this is a deal right now, but I’m not part of it. I didn’t even know the package was taken until you told me. I got no need for or care about what’s in it. It’s just a job for extra money so I can try to get out of the dump I’m living in now. That’s the gospel. Now, if you’ll excuse me, my head is splitting, and I’d like some medicine and a lie-down.”

The detectives looked at each other, talking wordlessly like partners often do, then nodded. Shanahan’s expression softened and he changed his tone to one of empathy.

“I’m sorry for the interrogation, Mr. Brannig,” said Shanahan. “If there’s anything further that you can recall,” his partner pulled out her business card and set it on Neville’s table, “please get in touch with us.”

Neville picked the card up, noted Eshing’s first name was Barbara, then nodded. They bade him farewell and exited his room.

Two weeks later, Neville was being moved to his temporary residence at his parent’s house. He didn’t want to trouble his parents, but they were quite insistent. Either way, he was glad to be out of the hospital. He felt good enough to come home after the weekend, but Doctor Smith was the cautious sort and watched him for two weeks. His head was out of its restraint and he had a prescription of pain medicine just in case.

Neville’s father opened the car door for him and helped him into his wheelchair. Everything felt so awkward to Neville. He was likely in his casts for another couple of months at least, so he needed to get used to it all. Father backed Neville up the front steps, adding a beeping noise like a delivery truck was reversing. Neville smiled appreciatively, but couldn’t help an eye-roll.

“You know, boyo,” his father started, “this’d be easier on your old dad if you’d have done this ten years ago or so.”

“Well, I’m sorry to not be more timely, Dad.”

“Aye, it’s alright. You get that from your mother.”

“What’s he get from me, Errol?” said his mother coming to help them through the front door.

“Your good looks and understanding, Norma,” he told her and leaned in to smooch her cheek.

She swatted his shoulder with a smile and took over driving the wheelchair.

“I missed you too,” Neville chuckled.

“Well, you have a couple months to get tired of us, Nev.” She rolled him to their sofa and locked the wheels down. “Here, lemmie help you.”

“Bloody hell, mum,” said Neville, as he transferred from his wheelchair to his parent’s sofa, “you don’t have to watch me over. I can take care of meself.”

“Says the bloke in two casts,” his father sarcastically teased as he set down a glass of tea on the table next to Neville.

“We just want you to be comfortable, dear,” his mother said, putting her hand on his. “You live on the fourth floor of your flat. We can put you up here for as long as you need.”

“It’s not like we haven’t taken care of you before, lad. Oh, I also went by your flat and got your mail out of the box. We took care of anything that was due immediately. I can bring the rest in for you.”

“Thanks, Dad.”

A moment later, Dad walked back in with a sack and handed it to him. Neville started going through it, making sure there was nothing too important. As he rummaged through the sack, his hand closed around a box. When he withdrew it, he was surprised to find that he held in his hand a small package wrapped in brown paper with his name and address on it.

Considering another brown paper package landed him in his current state, Neville instantly thought this was too odd to be coincidence. He started to reach for his cellphone in his pocket, but stopped himself. It had his name on it. It took a few minutes for Neville to strip the paper off the package, especially with one arm still in a cast, but eventually, he released the box from its prison. Cautiously, he pulled the tape off of the box and opened its flaps. Inside was an envelope sitting on three stacks of hundred-pound notes. Neville took the envelope and ripped it open with his teeth. The note inside was written in magazine clippings.

“Sorry about your accident, Master Brannig. This unfortunate occurrence was not in our original plan. We hope this will compensate for your present hardships.”