by Mary Stone
Winter studied her friend’s face. No matter what Autumn said, she could detect the doubt clouding her expression.
Autumn doesn’t think he’s able to be saved.
“Honestly, miss doctor friend of mine, I just want to know. If Justin is a hopeless case, and I knew that, then I could get off this damn emotional fence and come to grips with the truth. The not knowing is just killing me.” She swiped a hand across her eyes.
Autumn opened her mouth to respond—Winter guessed her doctor friend was going to attempt to reassure her yet again—when her phone rang loudly. She grabbed the cell. “Sorry. This is Mia. Have to answer.”
Winter watched and waited while Autumn took her call. Maybe there had been some sort of breakthrough with—
Piercing pain spread like lightning through Winter’s head and warmth trickled onto her upper lip.
Before she could even cry out…she was somewhere else.
Justin was on a gurney, being wheeled down the hallway by a nurse whose features she couldn’t make out. She tried to focus in, but there was only a thick, hideous blur where the face should be.
14
Paula Wingfield scowled at her housekeeping cart. She hated the damn thing, just like she hated her godforsaken second job as a nightshift housekeeper for the administrative wing of Virginia State Hospital.
But she didn’t hate anyone as much as Peter. Her estranged husband ran off with the next-door neighbor seven months ago. When Paula pictured the anorexic divorcee bitch “Lexi” with her blonde extensions and false eyelashes, she believed herself to be capable of murder.
Two, to be exact. A double homicide.
I felt sorry for you, you unbelievable whore. I cooked you casseroles! Homemade hot meals straight from my kitchen! Straight from my heart!
Lexi was only twenty-four. She’d moved into the Wingfield’s neighborhood after an “ugly divorce” from her “crazy ex.”
Paula was positive now that if Lexi’s ex really was crazy, the little hooker had been the sole cause.
Peter, her dumb bastard husband, was forty years old, as was she. Paula hadn’t thought for two seconds about the possibility of him being attracted to Lexi. Lexi was practically a child.
Paula had instantly been overtaken by maternal instincts upon meeting the girl. Faithfully tending to her own three children, working full-time as a grocery store checker, and taking Lexi under her wing had kept her busy.
But meanwhile, Lexi had kept Peter busy in a much different way. And apparently, whatever she did with him, for him, and to him was worth more than eighteen years of marriage to a loyal woman and three growing children who worshipped their father.
They certainly had experienced a major change of heart on that count.
Paula continued her full-time day job, but that hadn’t been enough. Since Peter had just run off like a worthless coward, she couldn’t even garner any child support from him. She was the sole provider, and because of her married status, Paula didn’t qualify for any type of state assistance.
So, she took a second job. The only positions she could find that she actually qualified for were waitressing…no…or housekeeping vacancies, and those openings filled in fast. The second her dull, brown eyes—mud, her mother had always said her eyes were the color of mud—spotted the “help wanted” ad for Virginia State Hospital, she pounced on the job.
There’d been a little competition, but Paula’s eagerness mixed with her pathetic life story had somehow pushed her to the front of the line. She’d gotten lucky.
Yes. Lucky enough to spend forty hours a week in this looney bin shitpot, cleaning up after a doctor whose car is worth more than my damn house.
Now, she had the privilege of functioning on four hours of sleep per day to work two full-time jobs that still didn’t bring in quite enough money for her to properly take care of her children, whom she never spent time with anymore anyway.
They’re basically raising themselves at this point.
Paula emitted a heavy sigh and pushed her cart to the next office of the never-ending hallway. Dr. Philip Baldwin’s.
She’d worked in the crazy house long enough to know that knocking before entering Dr. Baldwin’s office was of extreme importance. The man didn’t like surprises. Or intrusions. Or, as far as she could tell, other human beings.
In her experience, if Baldwin was still behind his desk, he’d simply tell her to come back later…or not at all. He often worked late, she’d learned. And just because her watch read after eleven in the evening, there was no guarantee that the doctor was gone.
She gave a solid yet polite double knock. No answer. She knocked again just to be safe.
Still no answer.
Paula gave the door a gentle push and confirmed that she was alone. Relieved that she’d missed the sour man and his disapproving glances, she started cleaning.
Cleaning fast.
For all she knew, Dr. Baldwin was simply taking a piss and would be back any second. She picked up her duster and kicked herself into overdrive. Cabinets. Shelves. Books. Frames.
And that tape recorder. She’d often wondered what exactly the doctor used that little machine for. Did he record everything that happened here?
The thought made her nervous.
But audio wasn’t video, and she never spoke while cleaning. Not like his patients and nurses did. Was he recording them?
And did they know they were being recorded?
Paula pushed the ideas away and continued her duties.
Probably could dust this room blindfolded. So sick of cleaning the same offices every mother effing night. I’m killing myself working both these jobs, and they’re not even—
A stack of folders went flying off a filing cabinet as her back end caught the corner of the metal beast. Instead of falling in a neat little stack, they fanned out under the doctor’s desk.
She’d overestimated her ability to speed clean without incident. And possibly underestimated just how much emotional eating she’d done in the last seven months.
Paula dropped to the industrial carpeted floor and gathered the renegade charts together. The pile she stacked appeared neat enough, but she knew everything would be out of order, which would mean a reprimand and possibly worse.
She prepared to stand and caught glimpse of a tape recorder on the lowest shelf of Dr. Baldwin’s bookcase. Between constantly chewing out his staff and speaking with nutjobs all day, the doctor had to have gathered several pretty interesting conversations on that nifty little thing.
Intriguing.
Paula knew she was taking a wild and unnecessary risk, but she hit the play button regardless. Life was awful. A little entertainment wouldn’t hurt anybody.
The audio may have proved amusing if she hadn’t immediately recognized Evelyn Walker’s voice.
“They’re still human beings…not science experiments. They deserve a chance at getting better.” That was definitely Evelyn.
“Those human beings are not going to magically get better by being buddies with Evelyn Walker. You are a nurse. You are not their friend. I want you to do your job, make your rounds, and absolutely nothing more. Understood?” And there was Dr. Baldwin, being a complete prick as per usual.
“I understand what you are saying, yes.”
“You understand and you will follow my protocol, Evelyn.”
Paula pressed the stop button. She had never heard Dr. Baldwin quite that rageful. He seemed to truly despise Evelyn Walker.
And Evelyn Walker was now dead. She’d been murdered.
Paula grabbed the tape from the recorder. This could be evidence. This needed to go straight to the authorities.
Although…
She turned the tape over and over in her hands as her mind worked out a different course of action.
Philip Baldwin was a horrible man. He even reprimanded her once because she hadn’t placed his freaking stupid trash can back in its freaking stupid exact spot.
Paula had cried when her shi
ft ended that day. She’d sobbed in her car and cursed the world and Peter and Dr. Baldwin and Lexi and trash cans…
“Screw that pompous asshole.” Paula stuck the tape in her pocket. “Maybe this is my turn to finally get ahead in life. Seize the day and make him pay.”
Perhaps Baldwin might agree to send her on her way with a generous severance package in light of the fact that she now had possession of a tape he couldn’t possibly want law enforcement to get ahold of.
She’d never blackmailed anyone before…the method wasn’t her style, and generally, she preferred to keep her integrity intact. But being a single mom with three kids wasn’t her style either, and somewhere right now Lexi was probably keeping Peter’s aging nether regions intact.
Integrity is overrated.
Paula had barely stepped back into the hallway when she stopped cold.
The administrative hall lights were off, leaving only the much dimmer night lights burning. Just enough light for her to make out someone standing right there in the middle of the hallway, less than three feet away.
“What are you doing?” Angry. The gruff voice of her surprise visitor was very angry.
“Oh. Just finishing up the office. Should be good and clean.” She tried to be nonchalant, but her voice squeaked with fear.
The man held out his hand. “I saw you take the tape.”
Her hand instinctively went to her pocket. Fear and dread mixed together into a toxic combination that made her heart pulse in her throat. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I know you probably think I was snooping, but I promise I wasn’t. This…this is just an accident. A silly accident.”
He took a step toward her. “I. Saw. You.”
She held up both hands, pressing her palms together in a gesture that was universally understood as begging. “Please don’t tell. I don’t want to get into any trouble. I need this job. You don’t have any idea how badly I need this job.”
She backed away, one step, two steps. As she backed up a third, she was no longer afraid of losing her job. She was simply afraid.
You are in danger. Run. Now.
With a burst of adrenaline fueling her body, she turned on her heel, but before she could take a single step, a hand clamped down on her shoulder, sufficiently holding her in place. Terror seized her heart, and she opened her mouth to scream.
“Hel—”
The rest of the word was cut off as fingers wrapped around her throat.
Squeezing and squeezing…
She kicked and struggled as the hands pressed harder. His hot breath streamed across her face, into her hair. She jerked to the side, and her arm knocked into something solid.
That mop…is covered…in bleach. Turn it. Hit his face. Burn his skin off…
Paula flailed before managing to grasp the handle of the mop standing tall in the cart beside her. Her fingers wrapped around the wood, and she pulled with all the strength she could muster. Though she tried, her hands could no longer obey orders.
The hallway was dimming darker…darker…
Please don’t! My kids! What will happen to my children?
One last rush of adrenaline kicked in, and Paula heaved the mop with every ounce of strength her body still possessed.
To no avail.
The wooden handle rattled against the floor. A few minutes later, the mop was joined by an incredibly dead Paula Wingfield.
Why? Why couldn’t people just mind their own damn business? What was so difficult about not interfering in other humans’ affairs?
I dragged Paula Wingfield’s substantial body to the nearest linen closet in the wing and propped her up against the back wall. Taking her farther away would have been ideal, but the woman had obviously been spending a lot of time in Twinkieville and Ding-Dong City.
The living never cared for their precious gift of life the way they should. A person had to die before loved ones admitted the fact that a jog or two around the block might have prolonged the deceased’s inconsequential lifespan.
I experienced a momentary sense of guilt over the loss. I had taken her from her children. I knew this…everyone knew about her forsaken children…because the woman hadn’t been shy about using her sad story of marital abandonment and single motherhood to secure her job.
But the children would do fine without her. She wasn’t a very good example for them to follow anyway. Not much of a lady.
Paula was a schemer. I’d never taken her for one. She always appeared to be interested only in doing her job and going home.
“You were going to use Evelyn’s murder to your advantage. What kind of a person does that? What’s wrong with you, Paula?” I stared down at her surprised face.
Her lids were still open, which I preferred. Staring into her eyes assured me that she was attentive to my reprimand.
And paying attention was certainly the respectful thing to do when you were receiving a stern talking to.
If only she had been this respectful in life…she might not be dead.
Paula could have survived this night just like any other had she not gotten greedy and taken that tape.
I pulled the recording from her pocket and stared at the peevish thing, planning my next step. Whatever I did, I needed to take swift action.
Time was of the essence.
The hospital was quiet in this moment, but that wasn’t a guarantee of privacy. Someone was listening, no doubt.
Someone was always listening.
Wasn’t this tape proof that everything done in secret would come to light? That nothing hidden would not be revealed?
The universe maintained a very fine balance between good and evil.
Sometimes, human beings were the instruments used to unveil other human beings’ wrongs.
I was such an instrument. And apparently, so was Paula Wingfield. Together, we would tell a story that brought due diligence to an otherwise hidden monster.
Everyone would take heed then. Everyone would witness.
Just as someone was most assuredly witnessing me right now.
I lifted my eyes, letting my sight pass through the ceilings and floors of brick and mortar until I could witness heaven.
Ah. Yes. There.
Someone was watching, indeed.
Always watching. Waiting.
I needed to get busy.
I glanced back down at Paula. She was still staring at me dutifully, which was appreciated, but no longer necessary.
I’d said my piece to this woman, and she had fulfilled her purpose.
Paula Wingfield could rest now.
We were done here.
I stripped off my gloves, shoved them deep into my left pocket and pulled out a fresh pair from my right.
Time to do what must be done.
15
Noah cleared Virginia State Hospital’s stairwell steps two at a time, his dark hair still damp from the rapid-fire shower he’d taken immediately after his phone rang a half hour ago.
Another murder at the hospital.
Two hours of sleep hadn’t exactly refreshed him for a brand-new day or a brand-new homicide, but when had exhaustion ever stopped him before?
The past two nights had been hell. The first one, he and Winter had barely spoken, even as they lay in the same bed.
Torture. Those hours of silence had tortured him. But Winter wasn’t a woman you pushed into forgiving you or making peace. She’d come around when she decided to.
When she was ready.
With no other choice, they’d both set off yesterday morning for their separate workdays on their separate cases. He’d hoped the demand of his job would at the very least block out the fact that his girlfriend wasn’t speaking to him.
But no respite had come.
Noah had spent the day unable to fully concentrate on his career or his relationship. By the time he’d returned home, life seemed like one conglomerate blur of puzzles that he would never be able to solve.
When he first arrived home around nine in the evening, Wint
er was sitting on the couch, covered in two thick blankets. A pile of bloody tissues was on the floor, and two half eaten chocolate pastries sat abandoned on the coffee table.
Her eyes slid to him in a gradual, hesitant turn. She’d been crying. And he didn’t have to ask about the bloody tissues. He knew what those meant.
Noah wasn’t sure how shaky their ground was right then, but locking eyes with her in the darkened living room, he knew she understood the situation he was in and had forgiven him. More so, that she desperately needed him.
He went straight to her and sat at the edge of the couch. “Another one?”
She nodded, blue eyes instantly filling with tears that didn’t come easily or often for her.
“Headache too?” Noah took her hand in his own.
“Yes,” she whispered. “But Autumn was here. She tried to make me comfortable…after. She had to leave, though.”
“How long have you been sitting here by yourself?” He wasn’t sure he wanted to know.
“An hour or two. I’m fine.” She offered him a smile that barely tipped up the corners of her lips.
Noah shook his head and placed his hand on her cheek. “You’re not. You wanna talk about it?”
“Tomorrow. Can we just go to bed?” Winter’s eyes pleaded with him to let the subject go.
“Whatever you want.”
They went to bed, but an hour of tossing and turning later confirmed the fact that Winter wouldn’t be able to sleep so easily.
He cajoled her a bit until she finally relayed her latest vision to him. Justin, the gurney, the faceless nurse. The premonition that something awful was going to happen and her baby brother was involved.
But she also expressed a conviction she’d never had about one of her visions before.
“This one doesn’t feel right.”
She insisted, repeatedly, that something was different this time.
Noah’s opinion was that she didn’t want the vision to be accurate. Who would be pleased to picture their brother on a gurney?
The headache, the nosebleed…her symptoms had occurred like normal. Well, as normal as a recurring brain trauma induced and seemingly impossible phenomenon could happen.
