The One Who Got Away

by L. A. Detwiler

  ‘What’s going on in here?’ a voice asks. I turn to see Jones in the threshold. What’s he doing here? It isn’t night time, is it?

  ‘She just seems upset,’ I say, hiding the note instinctively. Wouldn’t do for him to see it. That is one thing I do know.

  ‘Of course she is. She’s a bloody vegetable,’ Jones spews, rolling his eyes as he storms over. ‘What are you doing over here? Get out. Go to your activity or something.’

  ‘Don’t you usually work nights?’ I ask, trying to shield the note from view as I slink back to my side of the room, distracting him with what I hope will be a simple question.

  ‘That’s none of your business,’ he retorts, his jaw clenching.

  He retrieves Rose’s wheelchair from the corner of the room. Her arm is still out, stiff and straight, pointing, her eyes wildly flipping about. I bite my lip, not sure how to resolve the issue, still thinking about the secret paper in my hand.

  ‘Where is she going?’ I ask, curious.

  Jones stops, scowling across the room at me. ‘Why do you care? Wind your neck in, you daft cow.’

  I sigh. What to do? What to do?

  ‘Well, it’s just, you see, I’m a bit worried. It seems as though Rose was trying to tell me something. I think she saw something … troublesome.’

  ‘Oh, did she now? Bloody amazing, I’ll tell you. A mute and barmy woman is now telling you secret messages. It’s especially amazing considering this old hag doesn’t even have a tongue.’

  I freeze at the words, considering them carefully.

  Jones shakes his head, rolling his eyes. ‘Honestly. I don’t even know anymore,’ he spews. ‘Now get out. Rose here is headed to see the doctor. Apparently, her meds are a bit off. She’s been more agitated lately, according to the day nurse.’ There is an eerie look in his eyes that causes me to pause. The way he discusses her meds chills me a bit, especially because of how he beams. Something just irks me about the way he looks at me.

  I study Rose as he lifts her into the wheelchair like she’s a sack of items from the market – but perhaps with even less care. As he’s lifting her, some of Rose’s blood-tinged drool lands on the front of Jones’ shirt.

  ‘Jesus Christ, bloody disgusting!’ he screams, revulsion painted on his face. He glances around the room, finding one of Rose’s shirts on the bedside table. He grabs the shirt, wipes off the spit like he’s wiping off remnants of the Black Plague, and flings the shirt into the centre of the room. Muttering expletives under his breath, he wheels Rose past, and I gape at her. She doesn’t turn her head. I look to see that even in the chair, her hands are still shaking. She murmurs and whines as he wheels her out, and a tear falls down my cheek.

  I glance back at the note, my mind whirring with fear and confusion. Who would do something like this? Who is watching me, and why?

  And then my mind flashes back to that second night and the man with the thick spectacles. He told me he likes to wander, that he likes to keep an eye on everyone here. Could this be his doing? I shiver at the prospect.

  And then I shiver again as I think about dear Rose. What was she trying to tell me? What does she know? And more importantly, how can I find out?

  ***

  I try to quell my nerves, but the chaotic atmosphere downstairs isn’t helping. They’ve ushered all who are willing and able down to Floor One, a seemingly rare visit. It looks like Floor Three, of course, but there’s something about being on a lower level that makes me feel slightly better. It’s like the air down here is more breathable, even though the smell is still the same.

  The patients I presume live on Floor One look angrily at the residents from the other floors, as if we’re invaders. A few nurses at the front of the large room try to demand quiet as the forty or so patients gathered argue, grumble, and just generally make noise. I settle into my seat beside Dorothy, happy to have a friendly face nearby. Our bingo cards sit in front of us on the table as we wait for the game to begin. It seems like a lot of hassle for the staff to gather us all just for a game of bingo, but I suppose we’ve got nothing better to do. Plus, it’s done me some good to get away from that room, from Rose, and from everything that’s happened up there.

  I peruse the room, looking for the man with the spectacles. He lives close to me, in 313. I saw him go in there, and I wrote it in my notes. Was it really him that left that note on my board, or could it be someone else here?

  ‘You look like you’re a million miles away,’ Dorothy sputters, interrupting my thoughts. ‘Not that I can blame you. This game seems like a terrible idea. I should’ve stayed in my room. Cranford was playing, and I do love that one, you know?’

  I bite my lip, glancing around at some familiar faces and some unfamiliar. The priest from down my hallway, I think 310, sits at a table nearby. He taps his foot incessantly, his head ticking to the side as he does. He is murmuring something indiscernible, and he presses his eyes shut. I look over at the seat beside him, Babbling Barbara chattering away as well. There are a few more residents from Floor Three down here, including the man with the scar who brought the menu for the noticeboard and a woman from Dorothy’s side of the floor.

  I sigh, returning my attention to Dorothy. ‘I found a note in my room yesterday,’ I whisper to Dorothy, leaning in so as not to have anyone else hear. I don’t know why, but this just feels like the sort of thing I should keep to myself.

  ‘Love note? Got a secret admirer?’ she asks, winking and shimmying her shoulders.

  ‘No,’ I reply, stone-faced. ‘A quite frightening note, actually. I think someone is, well, it seems someone is watching me. Like someone here is after me. I’m feeling quite anxious about it.’

  ‘That’s silly. You just got here. Who could possibly be upset with you already?’ she asks.

  ‘Well, I had an interaction with the man from 313, the one with the thick spectacles, on the second night. He said he wanders about, keeps an eye on everyone. I don’t know, there was just something weird about the way he looked at me.’

  ‘The man with the spectacles? Oh, you mean the handsome one?’

  I shrug noncommittally.

  ‘It couldn’t be him. He’s such a nice guy. Gorgeous, but also just nice. And I’ve never even seen him wandering about, so that can’t be right.’

  I shake my head, wondering if I have it all wrong. Have I mixed things up again? I will have to look in my notes when I return to my room. But I must have it right. He is the one who found me. Isn’t he?

  ‘Well, you know, maybe it was Barbara. She has a habit of wandering around nonsensically, as you know. Probably just her being a bit off her trolley again.’ Dorothy fiddles with her bingo card.

  ‘Perhaps,’ I say. I’ve thought about the possibility, it’s true. Barbara does make her way around. Still, the woman is blind. How would she write those words with such perfect penmanship? Could someone have written it for her and used her as the delivery person? Or could it just be an unusual occurrence that has no evil intent behind it? Could it just be me overreacting? Both Claire and Charles used to say I tended to do that sometimes. There’s no reason to believe the note was actually a warning, after all. I haven’t done anything. I just moved in. I barely know anyone here, in truth. Who would be after me, and why?

  ‘Okay, ladies and gents, bingo is about to begin! Get ready, and eyes down,’ an overly chipper male staff member says from the front of the room. He’s young and jolly, not someone I’ve ever seen on our floor. He must be a Floor-One nurse or brand-new. I look down at my card. The room quietens as he prepares to call the first number.

  ‘What do we win in this game?’ I ask, glad to have my mind occupied with a task, even if it is just bingo.

  ‘Some boxes of digestives or sweets, I think. Don’t get too excited. Stakes are low. Still, you have to watch out. Some of these scoundrels try to cheat, and some get downright mad about winning. Watch your card closely,’ she orders, focusing on the numbered paper in front of her, concentrating like the veteran s
he apparently is. I lean on my hand, not able to focus on the numbers but not wanting to think about everything else.

  ‘Double five, fifty-five,’ the caller yells, and the room is abuzz with lukewarm excitement as residents mark their cards. Some ask for repeats, and a few just stare off into the distance, unsure of how bingo even works. But from the table beside us, someone lets loose, the game clearly too much.

  ‘Dammit!’ a voice shrieks from the table nearby, a fist smashing on the table violently. I turn and see that it’s the priest with green eyes. He shoves his chair back, kicking at the table.

  ‘I bloody hate that number! Why would you call that? Why? Unreal. Unreal,’ he shouts, shaking and frothing with rage as he clears the cards off his table, almost hitting Babbling Barbara with his fist in the process. Some nurses cross the floor quickly, trying to calm him, but he boils with outrage. He spews and sputters, stammering about numbers and blasted nurses and all sorts of injustices. Barbara, still beside him, claps and giggles at the spectacle. As the nurses lead him out of the room, I stare up at him.

  ‘Don’t look at me, you sinner,’ he spits, glaring right at me with a venomous rage. He glowers at me as he passes, and my heart pounds. What was that all about? I don’t even know him. Never even spoke to him. But the way he looks at me, I wince. The vehemence, the insidious glare – it says a lot. He hates me. I don’t even know why. Could he be the one who left the note? Could he be the one I need to watch out for? I don’t know.

  ‘Don’t worry about him,’ Dorothy says, reaching out to touch my hand. I startle. ‘That one just spent too much time in the good book. Made him a bit of a nutter, if you ask me. I guess going without sex for that long would do that to a person, you know? He’s pretty far gone, wrapped up in his religious fury.’

  ‘Oh,’ I reply, not sure what to say.

  ‘Okay, everyone, back to the game. Who is ready for a new number?’ the still-jovial young man up front asks, trying to salvage things.

  ‘What did I miss?’ a voice asks from behind me as the young nurse calls the next number and the residents settle down, most forgetting about the priest’s outburst in favour of winning a bag of crisps. I jump at the sound.

  ‘Sorry, Addy. Didn’t mean to startle you. Can I sit here?’ I glance over to see the man with the thick spectacles who found me by the stairwell. What did he say his name was? Did he say his name? Too many names to remember. I need to check my notes when I get back.

  My words catch in my throat, my heart racing at the sight of him. I stare at him with suspicion, not sure if I can trust him after the note on my noticeboard. It just seems too coincidental, and even though I trust Dorothy, I don’t think she’s right about him. He might be good-looking, but something tells me he isn’t harmless. I stare at the empty seat beside me, beckoning him forward. He sits down as I wordlessly study him.

  ‘Oh, just Father Patrick losing his cool again. They should know better than to bring him down here,’ Dorothy says. ‘Good-looking fellow, but wow, that temper.’

  ‘He does this all the time?’ I ask, curious about the man down the hall from me, Father Patrick apparently, and what his frenzies could mean. Could his outburst be a sign that he’s trouble? Could he somehow be connected to the mystery note on my noticeboard? I need to write this down so I don’t forget.

  ‘All the time. Crazy temper on that one. Nutty, isn’t it? I suppose a life of celibacy has a way of catching up to you. I don’t know what his life was like before this place, but goodness, I hope he was milder mannered in his glory days. That man explodes every day. The only time he seems calm is when he’s got a Bible in his hand. They used to let him lead prayer services in the community room, but then he got a bit overzealous. They don’t let him do it anymore, and ever since then, his temper has gotten worse. You ask me, I think they should just let him lead a fully fledged church service every single day, all day.’

  I jiggle my foot, glancing over at the man beside me as he leans back in his chair. The numbers continue on and on in the game, but I barely pay attention.

  A voice from the table to our right chimes in. ‘So, clinging to the new girl, huh? What, she have something on you?’ a woman hollers. I turn to see a woman with very bright red lipstick and a royal-blue dress glaring at our table. If it weren’t for the fact she was missing an arm and looked rather worn out, I wouldn’t know she was a resident. Her outfit is too put-together for this place, unlike the joggers and pyjamas most wear. She looks like she could be going out for dinner or to a gala, not to bingo.

  ‘Piss off, Vivienne, he’s with me,’ Dorothy says, rolling her eyes. ‘He can sit wherever he wants.’

  ‘What’s that about?’ I ask, Vivienne still glaring at me.

  ‘Nothing,’ the man beside me says. I should ask his name, but I feel silly doing that now. ‘Vivienne just likes to think I’m her property.’

  ‘That woman acts entitled. Thinks everyone here should bow down to her. Like she’s something special.’ Dorothy shakes her head, underlining the conflict between the two. I can tell already that Vivienne thinks she’s the queen of the floor. It’s obvious she feels the need to assert herself.

  Life in Smith Creek Manor seems so complicated. I thought my days here would be monotonous and simple. I never expected so much drama. The bingo game moves forward, and Vivienne continues to stare, making snide comments about me and my outfit. The man beside me just shakes his head.

  ‘Angry woman,’ he mumbles, staring at me. I’m not sure if he’s talking about Vivienne or something else. His eyes glare with an unclear motive.

  ‘I hope she’s not angry with me. I’d hate to make enemies here already,’ I admit.

  The man with the spectacles peers at me. ‘You’re worried about making enemies?’ he asks, smirking as if it’s a joke. It’s so strange, his mannerisms, his expression.

  ‘Apparently I’m doing a wonderful job at it,’ I answer, not sure what to say. He stays silent, shaking his head slowly.

  We finish the game, and I win a bag of crisps. I give them to Dorothy, who exclaims gleefully it’s our table’s first win in a while. I must be lucky, she proclaims. I beg to differ. When I’m walking towards the lift with the man with the thick spectacles, Vivienne stops in front of me.

  ‘Better watch yourself, Evans. Don’t think you can come to Smith Creek Manor and take over. You’re nothing special,’ she says, spitting towards me as I shake my head. Unbelievable. She stumbles off to the lift, making sure she’s first in line. I remain behind with the man and Dorothy. Babbling Barbara is stooped over next to us.

  ‘Women,’ the man says through gritted teeth as Vivienne glowers at me again.

  I look up at his eyes, and something flits through me. There’s something about him that feels soothing, that feels homey. But there’s also something else, something I can’t explain. Something that makes me feel quite uncomfortable, uneasy. It’s like I can’t sit still near him for fear of – what? What is it that could possibly bother me about him? I don’t know why, but I feel like he’s a refuge here in this chaotic whirl of confusion, but I also feel like he’s a whirling confusion in what’s supposed to be my refuge. Despite the sinking sensation in my gut when I’m around him, I feel like I know him. None of it makes sense. Then again, very few things do make sense anymore. I sigh in frustration at all that’s slipping away, at all of the chaos that plagues me every single moment.

  When the four of us finally get our turn in the rickety lift and return to Floor Three, we walk together, saying goodbye to Dorothy who is off to take a nap. We pass the nurse’s station where a nurse is snoring away at the desk. We trudge forward until we get to Room 313.

  ‘Well, it’s my stop. Goodnight, Addy. Be careful.’ And with that, the man in the thick spectacles is inside his room, off to the corner to lie down.

  I continue towards my room, my head hurting. I don’t understand what it is. It’s been an emotional day, from the note, to Rose, to the priest’s outburst, to Vivienne. But that�
�s not what’s bothering me. It’s something else. As I stop near the threshold to my door, tracing the familiar numbers outside my room as has become habit, I pause as the realisation slaps into me.

  He called me Addy. Only my closest friends and family call me Addy. No one calls me that here. It’s just so – familiar. That’s it. He feels familiar because the nickname is familiar.

  I walk into my room, troubled at the prospect. What could it mean? What could it mean indeed? But I don’t have time to ponder it too long because when I get into my room, I gasp at the horrific sight before me that reminds me of the truth: no one is safe here. No one.

  Chapter 10

  Purple. Her face is a ghoulish, faded shade of purple. If this were an Easter celebration, the hue of her face would complement the dull pink of the dusky wallpaper in our room. Her eyes wide open, staring ahead like she’s done so many times, she’s frozen in place as if she just needs a good thaw. My chest aches, screeching in an agony I can’t label. I need to calm down, but how do you breathe through the sight of death?

  There are no gurgling sounds, her lips parted and drooping as if she’s desperate to say something but silenced. I cradle myself, shaking my head as if I can will this all away. The longer I stand, cemented in place, the more certain I am that she’ll inhale any second.

  I cross the room cautiously, tears flowing, but I know before I get to her bed, before my hand touches her waxy skin, the fingernails already white, that she’s been gone, long gone for a while. How many hours had she been sputtering for air? How long has she been here in this bed, staring up at the ceiling, waiting for a saviour who never came? Death does not look peaceful on her. Death looks mangled and twisted, a macabre reminder that the scythe always strikes when we’re fighting to breathe once more.

  Why did I go to bingo? If I had stayed put, maybe I could’ve saved her. Maybe I could’ve helped her. I’d like to think she’s at peace, but staring at the horror marring her eyes, I’m not sure. She didn’t slip away. She didn’t drift off to the quiet unknown.