The Elephant Gate

The constant beep-beep-beep of a machine seemed to sync with the pounding in Kevin's head. He must have gotten drunk, although he couldn't remember the last time he had imbibed more than a glass of wine or two.

A bright light suddenly seared his eyes, even through his closed lids. He tried to swat the light away, but there was something pulling on his finger.

"Ah, so he finally comes back to us. You gave us a scare, Mr. Hunter." Kevin finally cracked an eye open, then another. Everything was blurry with spots for a moment and then resolved itself into a tall doctor holding a penlight in his hand. His publisher was standing right behind him.

"What happened?" He croaked. His throat felt dry and scratchy.

"You collapsed in my office. When I couldn't wake you up, I called 911. You're at Georgetown University Hospital."

The doctor interjected. "We have to run some more test to find out what happened. So far your lab work is normal. Has this ever happened to you before?"

"Not recently, although this happened when I was a kid. But not for ten or fifteen years." The doctor nodded.

"We would like to keep you here overnight for observation to make sure. If nothing is fine, and there are no further incidents, you can be discharged tomorrow."

Kevin grumped, "I don't even have my laptop. What am I supposed to do for the next umpteenth hours?" Anne handed him a neoprene case.

"I brought one of our spares from the office; you can use it for now. There's an empty thumb drive in the outer pocket."

"Thanks, Anne. I knew I could count on you." She squeezed his arm.

"I'll see you in the morning then, if the doctor says you can leave. Call me if you need anything." Kevin nodded and gave her a thumbs up.

Once he room was empty, he powered up the laptop and logged into the hospitals wi-fi. Since he was there, he might as well research this production company and the woman hired to rewrite his story.

* * *

Several hours later, Kevin sighed and rubbed his eyes. Everything seemed above board; Miss McEwen had some solid work under her belt, and the production company had a pretty good reputation. All in all, he felt okay with the contract for the adaptation.

He closed the laptop with a snap, slid it back into the case, and stuck it in the upper drawer of the little rolling bin. Laying back on the bed, he stared at the blank ceiling above him.

After his surgery as a child, he had to return every several months to make sure the tumor didn't return. His tenth year was a milestone – no more follow-ups and no lasting issues. Well, except for those dreams that followed him almost into a.d.u.l.thood.

They had seemed so real, all centered on a strange country that was part historical Asia and part 21st century. He used those dreams to create the book series that made him famous. And now one was going to be a live-action show.

He closed his eyes, but sleep eluded him. He tried to relax, going over the events of the day in his mind, but he shied away from that strange voice or whatever-it-was that ghosted through his mind at the Starbucks. Whatever that was, it was gone now, and he hoped fervently that it was gone for good.

* * *

With nothing unusual occurring overnight, Kevin was released from the hospital. He completed his insurance paperwork and paid his deductible before contacting his publisher. When she answered, she sounded harried.

"I'm sorry, Kevin, but Melinda has thrown another hissyfit. I'm heading over to her place to calm her down and pick up her final chapters. One of the film production employees is on their way to pick you up. They will be there in about 15 minutes." The phone shut off; no doubt she need to hold Melinda's hand, who was notorious for having a meltdown after each manuscript was completed. He settled down to wait.

He was dozing in the hard plastic chair with his feet propped up on the chair in front of him, when he felt a light tap on her shoulder.

"Are you Kevin Hunter?" The exotic accent intrigued him, and he opened his eyes to see that the figure in front of him didn't disappoint. She was shorter than him, but her curves were anything but boyish. Her eyes were a deep brown with flecks of gold, and her skin had the olive tone of somewhere hot and tropical. He nodded before stretching, working the kinks out of his back from sitting too long.

Once he stood up, he noticed the top of her head barely reached his shoulder. Her hair was inky black, but with little red highlights sparking here and there. She reached out her hand and gave his a firm shake.

"Mr. Hunter, I'm Rose McEwen." Ah, so this was the screen writer that was supposed to bring his book to life. He looked at her with new eyes. There was confidence in her bearing; she was wearing a light green singlet with a blue and black plaid flannel shirt over it. Blue jeans that tapered to her ankles and thick brown leather boots completed the outfit. She had a black backpack slung over one shoulder, and an orange parka over her arm. She looked competent and ready for anything.

Rose believed that a first impression was the most honest, so it was a bit of a shock to see this man when he finally stood up. Most of the book writers she had worked with in the past, especially ones who were known to stay out of the limelight, tended towards chubbiness that denotes a swivel-chair profession.

The man in front of her was tall and fit, with thick, wavy brown hair tied in a ponytail and hazel eyes that sparkled with intelligence even through the tiredness. It made her feel a little funny inside to look up into his face. Wow, it had been a long time since anything like this had happened; she was convinced that her attraction radar was permanently disabled. It was clear that she would need to be on her toes during the collaborative process, both for the screenplay and for the hormones that had suddenly come back to life.