Imagen de PublicDomainPictures en Pixabay
Este cuento fue escrito siguiendo las pautas de la iniciativa de @freewritehouse: Continúa esta historia, de la semana pasada, donde la tarea a realizar, era crear un cuento con giro inesperado, por diversas razones no pude publicarlo en su debido tiempo, sin embargo consideré publicarlo, ya que para mi significa dar a conocer mi trabajo creativo y todo el esfuerzo realizado.
Obsesión
El aviso en la pegatina del bus le dio una pista que podía seguir. Toda publicidad siempre incluía un número telefónico.
— ¡Vamos de vuelta a la clínica! —dijo a su colega.
—¿La clínica? ¿Para qué? —respondió confundida.
—¡Se me ocurrió una idea que podría funcionar, así lo tendremos, ¿tienes miedo?
—¡No, claro que no!
Regresan a la clínica, ella ve que él camina desesperado buscando entre las habitaciones, tiene que correr para agarrarlo.
—¡Suélteme! —le dice—¡Tiene que estar aquí! Ese tipo que vi, llevaba una capucha, es el mismo que entró a esa tienda, lo vi aquí, estoy seguro.
Su colega quedó pensativa y lo dejo seguir.
Al Inspector los recuerdos le llegaron como una premonición, él, había visto esa imagen en otro vehículo, no era muy común ver esa figura, ¿dónde fue que la vio? buscaba en su memoria esa calle que estuvo vigilando vestido como un vagabundo.
Por eso, cuando caminaba por la calle y vio a aquel hombre con capucha subir al autobús, pudo relacionarlo con las averiguaciones, era el mismo tipo que entró en aquella tienda en varias ocasiones.
—Vamos, ese es el hombre, —le dijo a su colega, —¡Apúrese, debemos detener ese autobús!
Ambos corren para interceptarlo, cuando saltan adentro, el inspector aprovecha para sacar la pistola, el hombre de la capucha lo ve y dispara. El inspector cae herido sobre el asfalto. El autobús se detiene y su compañera salta. Desde el asfalto, el inspector dispara, cree que le dio, pero ya no alcanza a verlo, el autobús toma la avenida y se pierde de vista.
El recuerda una pegatina de una carita triste, no está seguro si estaba en el autobús o el hombre la llevaba sobre el pecho, apenas la pudo ver. Luego todo se desvanece.
Cuando se despierta en la clínica se encuentra rodeado de luces, el ruido de monitores médicos, arma un alboroto y trata de levantarse, siente un dolor punzante en la cabeza, la enfermera lo sostiene para que no se haga daño. Una niebla parecía envolver sus pensamientos.
—¡Cálmese inspector! — le grita su compañera, —todo está bien, estamos en la clínica, ya todo pasó. Se dio un buen golpe en la cabeza.
—¡Tranquilo, inspector! un poco más y no la cuenta, creo que se hizo bastante daño cuando cayó sobre el asfalto. — le dijo la enfermera.
—Lo siento, creo que perdí el control y aún me duele la cabeza y me siento desorientado.
El inspector trató de recordar, de repente, la pegatina vuelve a sus recuerdos, pero esta vez no estaba en el autobús, ni en el hombre que perseguía. La había visto en una carpeta en el consultorio de la clínica. Miró a su colega, que parecía preocupada, y a la enfermera, que preparaba una jeringa.
Hace un par de semanas, durante una investigación rutinaria, había estado en esa misma clínica. Fue en la oficina del director donde notó una pegatina muy parecida, era la carpeta de un paciente, al que se le había diagnosticado un trastorno de personalidad severo.
Su corazón empieza a latir más rápido, mira a su colega, que sigue hablando con la enfermera, pero hay algo en su tono de voz que le parece fuera de lugar. Algo que no había notado antes, el leve temblor en sus manos, la mirada que evita la suya.
—¡No, no!... algo no está bien —murmura, intentando levantarse, pero su cuerpo no le responde.
La enfermera y su colega se acercan, ambas con sonrisas tranquilizadoras que ahora le parecen más amenazantes que reconfortantes.
Hay nervios en el ambiente.
—¿Por qué me trajeron a esta clínica?
—Esta es la más cercana, inspector, — le dijo, evitando su mirada. —estabas desmayado por el golpe en la cabeza y la herida de la pierna sangraba.
Por primera vez, ve una mirada extraña en el rostro de su colega, un destello frío en sus ojos. Trató de recordar los hechos en el autobús, su colega no fue agredida, el autobús se detuvo unos instantes y ella saltó.
—¿Qué me van a inyectar?
Intenta levantarse, pero su cuerpo no responde. La enfermera se acerca, ambas sonríen.
—Tranquilo inspector, el hombre de la capucha ya no está, con esta inyección va a estar muy calmado.
El inspector trata de impedir que lo inyecten, pero no tiene fuerza para eso, siente que sus ojos se van cerrando y apenas puede distinguir aquella carita que su colega tiene timbrada en su pecho.
—Ya no tendrá más preocupaciones inspector, estas cosas pasan.
Imagen de Enrique Meseguer en Pixabay
This story was written following the guidelines of the @freewritehouse initiative: Continue this story, from last week, where the task was to create a story with unexpected twist, for various reasons I could not publish it in due time, however I considered publishing it, because for me it means to make known my creative work and all the effort made.
Obsession
The advertisement on the bus sticker gave him a clue he could follow. Every advertisement always included a phone number.
— Let's go back to the clinic! —he said to his colleague.
—The clinic? What for? -she replied in confusion.
—I came up with an idea that might work, so we'll have it, are you afraid?
—No, of course not!
They go back to the clinic, she sees him walking desperately looking around the rooms, she has to run to catch him.
—Let me go! —He has to be here! That guy I saw, he was wearing a hoodie, he's the same one who broke into that shop, I saw him here, I'm sure of it.
His colleague remained thoughtful and let him go on.
The Inspector's memories came to him like a premonition, he had seen that image in another vehicle, it wasn't very common to see that figure, where did he see it? He searched his memory for that street he was watching dressed as a vagrant.
So, when he walked down the street and saw that man with a hood getting on the bus, he could relate it to the enquiries, it was the same guy who had entered that shop on several occasions.
—Come on, that's the man,’ he said to his colleague, ’Hurry up, we have to stop that bus!
They both run to intercept it, when they jump inside, the inspector takes the opportunity to pull out his gun, the man in the hood sees him and shoots. The inspector falls wounded on the asphalt. The bus stops and his partner jumps out. From the asphalt, the inspector shoots, he thinks he's hit, but he can no longer see him, the bus takes the avenue and goes out of sight.
He remembers a sticker of a sad face, he's not sure if it was on the bus or the man was wearing it on his chest, he could barely see it. Then it all fades away.
When he wakes up in the clinic he is surrounded by lights, the noise of medical monitors, he makes a fuss and tries to get up, he feels a stabbing pain in his head, the nurse holds him so he doesn't hurt himself. A fog seemed to envelop his thoughts.
—Calm down, Inspector! — his colleague shouts at him, -everything is fine, we are in the clinic, it's all over now. He gave himself a good whack on the head.
—Calm down, inspector! A little more and it won't count, I think he hurt himself pretty bad when he fell on the asphalt. — The nurse told him.
—I'm sorry, I think I lost control and I still have a headache and feel disorientated.
The inspector tried to remember, suddenly the sticker came back to his memory, but this time it was not on the bus, nor on the man he was chasing. He had seen it on a folder in the clinic's office. He looked at his colleague, who looked worried, and at the nurse, who was preparing a syringe.
A couple of weeks ago, during a routine investigation, he had been in that same clinic. It was in the director's office where he noticed a very similar sticker, the folder of a patient, who had been diagnosed with a severe personality disorder.
His heart starts to beat faster, he looks at his colleague, who is still talking to the nurse, but there is something in her tone of voice that seems out of place. Something he hadn't noticed before, the slight tremor in her hands, the look that avoids his own.
—No, no... something's not right,’ he mutters, trying to get up, but his body doesn't respond.
The nurse and her colleague approach, both with reassuring smiles that now seem more threatening than comforting.
There are nerves in the air.
—Why did you bring me to this clinic?
—This is the nearest one, Inspector,’ he says, avoiding her gaze. -You were passed out from the blow to the head and the wound on your leg was bleeding.
For the first time, he saw a strange look on his colleague's face, a cold glint in his eyes. She tried to remember the events on the bus, her colleague was not assaulted, the bus stopped for a few moments and she jumped up.
—What are they going to inject me with?
She tries to get up, but her body doesn't respond. The nurse approaches, they both smile.
—Calm down inspector, the man in the hood is gone, with this injection he will be very calm.
The inspector tries to stop them from injecting him, but he doesn't have the strength to do so, he feels his eyes closing and he can barely make out the little face that his colleague has stamped on his chest.
—You won't have to worry any more, inspector, these things happen.
Translated with www.DeepL.com/Translator (free version)
Images edited with PhotoScape