Mystery of the Disappearing DOS, 

Part V

by Ignatius Filchworthy

Editor: We could, of course, summarize what has taken place already regarding the sudden disappearance of the Director of Studies of the Our Lady of the Ubiquitous Tears Secondary School, but why spoil all your fun, when you can read the first four parts yourself?

Part I:       Click here.
Part II:      Click here.
Part III:     Click here.
Part IV:    Click here.

Now, on to part V....

Totally exhausted by now, I nonetheless broached an idea to Rick Keyhorn and little Bik, which to my surprise was immediately accepted – namely to have Bik's parents come and pick them both up and let them stay at their house until we could figure out what to do next. Certainly, to stay where they were was to risk danger not only to themselves, but also to Khun Pranee, if she wasn't in quite enough danger already.

Having seen this idea through successfully (luckily, it didn't take long), I took the first taxi I could find back to my apartment, to which my girlfriend, Lek, had herself just returned from a visit with her parents upcountry. Though it really was nice to see Lek again – as she's my girlfriend, I call her simply "Lek", instead of "Khun Lek" – there was no way I was going to try to describe for her all that had been happening, and it was with some relief, quite honestly, to see that she was nearly as spent as I was. We thus embraced warmly throughout the night without asking each other many questions or telling much information. I did have the presence of mind to set my alarm clock before lying down, so I would make my hospital appointment the next morning and see Bill. My throat hurt awfully, and I woke up several times during the night coughing. I dreamed about fleeing from Mafia thugs all night.

So exhausted was I from my dreamings (at least mentally) that it was almost a relief to hear the alarm clock go off in the morning. My eyes were burning, but my throat was better. Absent-mindedly, I made myself a half-cup of coffee and then did not drink it when I remembered the doctor's order not to eat or drink anything within eight hours of my appointment time. Sighing, I then had a leisurely shower and shave, during all of which Lek remained blissfully sleeping, or so I thought. I stared down on her lovingly as I got dressed. Then, as we both sleep naked, I availed myself of the opportunity to tongue a little exposed nipple and give her a soft peck on her lips. She smiled in her sleep, and made some unintelligible sound, after which I left the apartment and shut the door softly.

I arrived at the hospital just before my appointment time and was told to wait my turn for a Cat (actually CT) Scan on the Computed Tomography scanner, the purpose of which was to discover whether or not my lungs had been damaged by the gas. While waiting, I was asked to sign a credit card slip to pay for this (rather expensive) scan, being assured that my social welfare fund would reimburse me. After that, I was shown to a cubicle where I was to strip off my clothes and slip into a sort of hospital gown that had a fastening system somewhat similar in complexity, it seemed, to a Rubik Cube. My clothes, mobile phone, wallet and other possessions were then placed into a locker, for which I retained the key. I then dutifully returned to my "station" and waited to be called.

Approximately ten minutes later, I was led into a room in which was a long, horizontal cylinder that was the scanner, and was asked to lie down on the external part, with my legs inside it. I was told the scan would take approximately 30 minutes and warned not to move any part of my body at any time until the scan was over. My hands and arms were then placed behind my neck, and I was told that from time to time the voice of the machine would ask me to hold my breath, and then begin breathing again. That was it: Let the scan begin!

It is not easy, however, as I soon discovered, to lie completely still for so long, and I was actually afraid even to cough (I had forgotten to ask whether I could do that or not). When the machine told me to hold my breath, I did so; and when it told me to breathe again, I did that. Outside, the technician was listening to low-volume music on a radio, and from time to time another technician (or nurse or doctor, how would one know?) came in and chatted with my technician. Not all of this was idle chatter, however, as I once distinctly made out the words "Willyam Wakelly" (Bill Wakely, of course), and once even heard "Our Lady of the Ubiquitous Tears", which under any other circumstance would have been absolutely hilarious, given the normal Thai rendition of this certainly difficult name!

Ultimately, to avoid stirring, I had to resort to a kind of self-hypnosis to control the amount of time I imagined I had left. I also came close to sleeping, and let my mind free-associate. I saw a blur: Rick Keyhorn, little Bik, Khun Pong, Bill Wakely, Father Silvio and Khun Wan all in silent, but ernest, appeal to a large bearded fellow I assumed must have been Bill's brother, Jack. I saw Khun Pranee with blood dripping from her hands and Sister See saying, "Why? Why? Why?" I imagined the slamming of doors, a police siren, the hissing of gas from a cylinder held by Khun Pong and the chilling screams of little children somewhere in the background. Somehow, from all this I got an idea about what to do to put a halt to this obviously evil operation, but I could not for the life of me articulate what it was. It was just there. At some point, it would surface, and I tried to be patient in my new-found self-confidence.

So successful was my "self-hypnosis" in this manner that I was almost surprised when the scan was stopped. My shoulders ached, however, and my whole body was delighted to be able to move again. I also did a lot of coughing that I had saved up, having indulged in just the occasional small "hack"while in the cylinder to at least minimize any movement. No one had complained about that, anyway. I was told now that it would take an hour or so to obtain the results of the scan.

After dressing, I was given blood tests and then freed to have some breakfast/lunch in the hospital food shop. By then, I was really starving! Following that, I enquired after Bill Wakely, and was told that he was in ICU and not allowed visitors. Though the receptionists would not tell me any more information, I was eager to visit ICU to see if Khun Pranee and maybe Sister See might be on guard there, as it were.

I was right about Khun Pranee, as I found her sleeping in the sitting area outside. However, Sister See was not there, nor was Father Silvio, which did not particularly surprise me. Khun Pranee somehow sensed my presence and sat up.

"Have you been here all this time?" I asked foolishly.

"Yes," she answered drowsily. "Sister See went back to sleep and plans on coming again later. Father Silvio left shortly after we got here. He looked at me in such a strange way. He really frightens me!"

"How is Bill?" I asked.

"Bill is going to be alright, I think, but his jaw is all wired up and he can't speak. The story is that he's in a coma. However, I know more than I supposed to. In a little while, for example, you are going to meet a Dr. Surasak, who will give you the results of your scan and some quite valuable information. That is all they let me say. That only in secret."

Very mysterious, but I didn't wish to press her. Instead, I invited her for some lunch, and she accepted, as she clearly had been sleeping for some time. Despite having eaten already, I certainly planned to enjoy a leisurely cup of coffee with her, to make up for my morning "sacrifice".

Good plan, but no sooner had I taken a sip of my precious brew than a nurse came up to me to enquire my name, and then told me to follow her. I excused myself from Khun Pranee and advised her to go home for some sleep after lunch. Shaking her head sadly, however, she said, "I can't. You will see why before the day is over."

On this mysterious note, I left Khun Pranee to meet – yes, sure enough! – Dr. Surasak, who was the pulmonary physician in charge of my case. Dressed in his white coat, he arose briefly from his desk to shake my hand. He was still a relatively young man, not more than in his early forties, and his friendly, intelligent face hinted at a fine sense of humor, should a fun occasion arise. This, it soon became clear, however, was not one of those occasions.

Dr. Surasak viewed my chest scan on his monitor and said, "It appears that you have not suffered any permanent damage from your exposure to the gas. The hospital is still trying to determine, however, what type of gas it may have been, and there is the possibility that you might need to undergo another scan later on. Do you know yourself what kind of gas it was?"

"No, doctor, I don't. However, some of us suspect that it was an insecticide used by a professional exterminator."

"Ah, that could explain a lot. Have you been given the results of your blood tests yet?"

"No."

"Well, nothing to be alarmed about. Anyway, what you have just told me helps me to know what medicines to prescribe for your throat and eye irritations. That should clear up in just two or three days. If not, you must come and see me again."

"Thank you, doctor."

"Now, Mr Filchworthy," said the doctor with a very serious expression on his face, "You work in a very bad, and very dangerous, school. You have a reputation. I know part of what goes on there. Little boys come here afraid to tell the truth, and your so-called "priests" stonewall and pretend nothing is going on. We Thais love our children, and we do not take kindly to their abuse." The doctor clearly was becoming more and more angry as he said these words.

I said nothing.

"I have a note for you. Your life, and my career may depend on your discretion regarding what is in the note." His expression challenged me.

"Doctor, you may depend on my discretion. I don't know how much you might know about recent events, but I am just as concerned about my school and the children there as you are, maybe even more so, and I want to put a stop to what is going on."

The doctor sighed at length, and considered his words carefully before continuing. "Mr Filchworthy, your colleague William Wakely is in bad shape, but can recover– if he is not murdered first." He paused to let me appreciate his meaning.

"The official word," continued Dr Surask, "is that Mr Wakely is in a coma. However, he is not, and he has written a note for you because he cannot speak." He handed me the note, somewhat nervously, I would say, for a doctor.

The note was not easy to read because of the scrawled writing. However, after a moment of two I could make out the message, as follows:

Call Interpol agent
Khun Marisa (Thai)
02 843 9000
code word Bleeding Mary
meet U. S.  Embassy
American Services Section
tomorrow after 9:30.
Careful!

I folded the note neatly and placed it in my shirt pocket, nodding at the doctor. "I'll take care of this," I said.

As though nothing had happened, the doctor's happy face now returned, and he said, "Here are your prescriptions. The nurse will give you a form outside. Take them to the cashier for payment. And good luck!"

"Thank you, doctor, I appreciate very much all you have done."

After paying for and receiving my medications, I took my first doses, and then sought a secret place to make a call to Khun Marisa. I reached her immediately and gave her the code word. Sounding distant, and even cold, she arranged an appointment for me for the next morning, somewhat reluctantly, it seemed– but I guessed that was just the cautious government official way, particularly regarding intelligence.

I then returned to ICU to see if I might persuade Khun Pranee to go home and get some rest. She was not only awake, but seemed quite agitated. She pulled me physically into the farthest corner of the room and exclaimed in a whisper, "Iggie,I know you sent Rick and the child to Bik's parents' house last night. Well, I just got a call from them, and they really frantic!  Now Rick and child both gone again! Yes, again! They have both just completely disappeared, right in front of the detective guarding the house!"

"My God," was all I could manage.

"Oh, Iggie, I am so scared! What is going to happen?"

Impulsively, I put my arm around her waist and pulled her to me for a hug. I then kissed her cheek gently. But the next kiss, wholly unintended but willingly accepted, was a passionate one engulfing her warm, soft lips for many seconds.

I then stepped back from her, confused, communicating something sincere, I know not what, to her face. I held her hands gently and dropped them down just as she held my arms and brought them down, all of this very slowly. It was a moment to remember.

However, I was going to make a short day of it, and carry my passions home to Lek.

"I will see you tomorrow," I croaked.

"Yes, I will see you later," she smiled weakly.

"Go home and get some sleep," I said in parting. "Now!" However, I did not wait to see if she was going to comply.

Upon leaving the building, I nearly ran into Father Silvio, who apparently was just entering.

"Filchworthy, Filchworthy," he chortled. "You really must do a better job of looking after your health!" Despite these words, his whole grinning face scarcely disguised what he really meant.

"Yes, Father, I shall, and you may rely on it," I said both brashly and unwisely. "And so must we all, as it is written, before the Lord God Almighty rains his punishment sevenfold on the wicked of Earth with a great vengeance. Good night, sir."

Next month, Part VI.

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