LEWIS GORDON: RETURN OF THE FORGOTTEN HEIR

BENEATH THE WEIGHT OF SURVIVAL

Immediately Lewis shot up from his seat, his legs trembling with urgency as he rushed to the door. He yanked it open, his voice cutting through the hospital corridor like a knife. Two nurses were approaching down the passage, their shoes clicking against the tiles.

“Go and call the doctor; she’s collapsed again! Please, be fast!” Lewis barked, his voice cracked with fear, sweat glistening on his forehead.

The two nurses didn’t waste a second. They disappeared like shadows vanishing into the dark. Within two heartbeats, they barged into the ward again, this time followed by the doctor whose white coat swayed behind him.

Without a word, the transactional doctor crouched by the bed, his stethoscope pressed against Lewis’s mom’s fragile chest. Lewis hovered close, his fists tight by his sides, his face carved with worry, blue eyes burning with desperation.

“Doc… how is she doing?” Lewis’s voice shook, barely holding itself steady.

The doctor kept checking with surgical precision, his brows furrowed like a man fighting time itself. Finally, he exhaled and said firmly:

“She’s breathing fast; her heartbeat is too quick. She needs immediate treatment. This might be a lucid interval, temporary increased blood pressure, or stress of the brain.”

Lewis’s throat tightened. He remembered the revelation she gave him earlier, the truth that had broken his world open; it might have been what triggered this collapse. He tried to speak, but the doctor’s sharp command cut him off.

“Monica! Quickly, rush and bring the IV fluid injections. Don’t waste my time!”

The nurse sprinted out, her footsteps echoing down the hall. In less than two minutes, she was back, breathless, clutching the injections. The doctor snatched them from her hands and drove the IV into his mother’s arm, the liquid dripping like a lifeline.

Lewis’s chest rose and fell as he watched every move, eyes fixed like a hawk. Finally, he whispered, voice trembling.

“When will she be conscious again? How many hours will it take?”

The doctor straightened, his eyes serious but calm.

“She will hopefully recover by tomorrow morning around 8:00AM, an hour later at most. Then I will tell you the drug that will be prescribed.”

Lewis nodded, swallowing hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. The doctor turned, followed by the two nurses, their footsteps fading into the corridor.

Lewis lingered, watching his mother’s chest rise and fall, then touched her forehead. Her skin was warm. Relief brushed his face for a moment, then he exhaled and left the ward.

Outside, he saw Monica. “Keep a close watch on her,” he said, voice low but firm. She nodded quickly.

He pushed the hospital doors open and stepped into the cold night. His old Chevrolet Equinox sat under a dim streetlight, its body scratched, its tank almost empty. He slid in, turned the key, and with a growl of the tired engine, drove off into the night that swallowed him whole.

Two hours later, the Chevy rolled into the yard of his old log cabin. The snowflakes fell lazily, coating the roof like forgotten dust. Lewis opened the creaking wooden door, switched on the lamplight, and without even removing his suit, collapsed onto his bed.

His body felt like stone, but his mind ran restless. Betrayal by Bianca, humiliation at Red Origin, his prototype stolen, his mother’s collapse, and the shattering revelation she gave him, all of it crowded his skull. Slowly, like a man dragged underwater, he fell asleep.

Hours later, the early morning chill crept into the cabin. Lewis blinked awake, yesterday’s moment crashing back into his mind. He remembered digging into his pocket in front of everyone, certain his old Samsung Galaxy was there, only to find nothing but loose threads. He could still feel the shock on his face, the weight of their stares.

“Who’s behind this?” He muttered, eyes narrowing.

He shook it off, dragged himself to his wardrobe and slipped into another old but neat suit. When he stepped outside, the snow crunched under his shoes. Checking his Chevrolet Equinox and it was bone dry!

He sighed, adjusted his tie, and began trekking under Buffalo’s falling snow. The streets were alive, traffic lights blinking red and green, horns blaring, vendors opening up, and people shuffling fast in thick coats. Lewis walked through it like a ghost, his thoughts heavy.

How will Mr. Louis going to play it today? calm or fierce like fire?

It took him two long hours of snow and cold to reach Clinton Clinics again.

Inside, he pushed open the ward door and froze. His mother was awake.

“Mom!” He rushed to her bedside, hugging her tight, relief flooding his face. “Good morning, Mom! How are you doing?”

Her eyes shone softly. “Son, I’m absolutely feeling well.”

Lewis smiled wide, his shoulders shaking. “Hopefully today or tomorrow we will leave this hospital. I keep praying for your quick recovery; it means the world to me.”

His mother chuckled gently. “My recovery has already been written in the stars, son. Panic no more.”

The door creaked open. The doctor and two nurses walked in, the smell of antiseptic trailing them.

“Good morning, sir and ma’am. I’m so happy for your consciousness,” the doctor said politely.

Lewis only nodded, his tall frame rigid, his blue eyes sharp. His mother replied warmly:

“Thank you, son. I truly appreciate your kind words and your treatment altogether.”

The doctor straightened, his tone turning brisk. “Gentlemen, the treatment isn’t complete yet. More are to be carried on. The list of drugs includes analgesics, other emergency drugs, and a possible CT scan or lab test. All this still amounts to our recent price agreement. Note that the IV fluid injections are included.”

Lewis clenched his jaw, calm but carrying the weight of mountains. “When will she start taking the drugs?”

“Today. Around the afternoon,” the doctor replied sharply. “Any other questions? Because I’ve others to attend to.”

Lewis shook his head. The doctor and nurses filed out, their footsteps echoing down the hall.

His mother looked at him seriously. “Son, do you truly have the funds to cater for all these medications?”

Lewis forced a smile under the crushing burden. “Yes, Mom. I’m going to work this morning. I’ll make more money for your treatment.”

He stood, glanced at the wall clock, and tugged his old suit straight. “Mom… I’m going to work. Take care of yourself. I’ll order food for you before I leave.”

His mother smiled. “I’ve heard you, son. Safe journey and much money to your account.”

Lewis hugged her, kissed her forehead, and then walked to the door.

Outside, the snow fell harder. He stopped by a nearby restaurant, Diamond Kitchen. He spoke to the cook, paid her his last coins, and pointed at the clinic. “Deliver food to my mom; she’s in the ward,” he said firmly.

Then, tightening his coat, he stepped into the busy road. Cars honked, buses splashed slush, and pedestrians hurried across zebra crossings. He hailed a taxi, climbed in, and leaned back, mind heavy. What will Mr Louis say?

Two hours later, the taxi pulled up at Louis Techhub, a modest electronics repair shop. Lewis paid the driver with his last penny. His chest tightened; no money was left.

He walked into the shop, snow melting from his shoulders. The workshop buzzed with low chatter and the faint hum of tools. His colleagues looked up, eyes widening at his late arrival.

His boss, Carrington Louis, was already moving toward him, his jaw tight, his eyes flashing like a man about to pass judgment.

“Lewis!” he barked, his voice booming across the shop. “Why did you skipped work yesterday? And why are you coming in by this time?” He stepped closer, his finger stabbing the air like a knife. “You think I’ll keep paying a late, unreliable worker? Explain yourself now, or don’t bother coming back tomorrow!”