Standing in the doorway, Darcy saw the old man sitting in his chair and staring up at the curtain. It had come apart from the rod a bit on the left side and hung limply, exposing the window beneath. Below it was the wooden chair that normally sat before the matching small table in the room.
“How’d you manage to do that now, Victor?” asked a clearly unimpressed Darcy.
“I tried to fix it but every time I get up on the chair, my head starts to spin and I feel like I’m going to fall,” said Victor meekly. “Maureen made me promise to wait until you could fix it for me.”
“She would do that now wouldn’t she? Sweet little Maureen.” Darcy stepped up onto the chair. “I should take this all down. I don’t know why they let you put up this stupid blanket anyway. Sleeping all day and staying up all night is for young kids, not an old man like you,” said Darcy as he placed the last hook back into place pinning up the dark thick blanket. “You happy now, Victor?” asked Darcy as he felt a hand on his ankle. Looking down he saw Victor who now had his cold, surprisingly strong hand wrapped around his right ankle.
“Yes, yes I am,” said Victor as he grasped Darcy’s belt with his other hand as a sharp searing arthritic pain shot through it. Victor quickly lifted Darcy so his feet no longer touched the chair and throwing him down with all his might. For a split-second, it was as if Darcy weighted the same as a small child. He hit the tile floor hard, bones snapping in his right arm as he tried to break his fall. Dazed from hitting his head, he groaned from the pain in his arm while looking up at Victor. The old man knelt next to him on the floor and placed both his aching hands on either side of Darcy’s head, lifting slightly and then bashing his head on the hard floor. A snapping and crunching sound echoed in the room as blood flowed from the fresh wound he had just inflicted.
Still kneeling, Victor watched the blood pool around Darcy’s lifeless head. He groped his wrist in an attempt to sooth his arthritis. He lazily ran his index finger through the pool of blood, lifted it and stared at the blood for a moment as it dripped down the finger, before inserting it into his mouth. His eyes closed, savouring it like someone might savour a bowl of home made icing. Getting up to the sound of popping, aching joints, Victor made his way to the door of his room only to pause and look back at Darcy’s lifeless body. Reaching into his pocket he felt the beads of his rosary with his fingers.
“God forgive me,” he spoke softly under his breath. Walking out of the room, Victor stopped in mid step just as he turned into the corridor as his eyes caught a glimpse of something on the floor before him. A book lay facedown with a bookmark protruding out of the well-read pages. He bent down to pick it up. Popping joints echoed in the hallway as he straightened. Turning the book over and reading the text on the cover.
I, Robot by Isaac Asimov
“Good morning, Victor. Did Richard loan you his book?” asked Peggy as she came from up the hallway.
“Peggy. Dear, I’m sorry to have to tell you this but Darcy’s had an accident in my room while he was fixing my curtain for me.”
Rounding the corner, her knees buckled at the sight of all the blood. She never expected it to be this bad.
“Oh my God!” she uttered aloud without realizing she had vocalized her horror at the sight of Darcy. She ran out as fast as she could.
Victor looked at the book in his hand and then down the hall behind him suspiciously.
20
The next morning Maureen sat across the table from Jenna in the staff room with a sad look on her face. “You know, Jenna. It sucked having to find out on Facebook that Darcy died.”
“I know. That’s how I heard too. By noon the whole town of Carlton was buzzing with the gossip. ”
Maureen added “I feel bad for saying this but he wasn’t my favourite person, you know.”
Jenna patted her hand saying “Don’t feel bad. He wasn’t very high up on my list either, deary.”
Maureen sipped her tea and asked. “I wonder how Victor is? It must have traumatised him to have that happen in his room.”
Jenna smile slightly. “Victor? He’s fine. He worked in hospitals most of his life. He seen more blood and death than all the staff of Sleepy Meadows combined I think. At least that’s what he implied when I asked him how he was.” Jenna took a gulp of coffee from her cardboard cup with the brown plastic lid. “It’s not Victor I’m worried about. It’s Richard that worries me.”
Looking down into her porcelain cup, Maureen added “I know. As a priest, he’s seen death a lot too. But, he used to have God to help him deal with it. And finding Agnes dead in her bed must have been hard for him.”
“Dead. And after the best day she had in years,” added Jenna.
Maureen sipped the last of her tea and looked into the empty cup. “I’ve never gotten use to losing our seniors. I mean you get attached and they get to be like family.” Brushing away a tear, she got up to put her cup in the kitchen sink.
21
Peggy tugged at the clean sheets, making sure they weren’t too tight for the next resident who would move into Agnes’s old room. Pausing to smell the fresh linen, she stuffed one of the pillows into a pillow case.
“Peggy,” a voice called behind her, startling her so much she fumbled with the pillow, catching it before it hit the floor. She turned, hand to her chest as she felt her heart race. Richard stood in the doorway.
“You scared me,” she said with a smile, laughing at herself.
“Sorry to bother you but have you seen my book?” asked Richard. “I seemed to have misplaced it.”
“No I haven’t, Father Richard.” She spoke with a serious look. “But I do have something for you. Agnes, before she died, she asked Victor to make sure that you got this.” She reached into the pocket of her uniform and pulled out a balled-up hand. Taking the ex-priest’s hand in hers and turning it palm up. She opened her hand and out fell a clumped up blue rosary.
“She said it was her late husband’s. She wanted you to have it.” Peggy closed Richard’s hand gently over it and looks into his eyes. “I hope that’s ok. He asked me to give it to you. It’s one of the last things she asked him to do when they last spoke. Not long before she passed away.”
Richard didn’t speak as he placed the rosary in his the pocket of his robe and left the room.
A few moments later, with his hand in his pocket fingering the beads, he walked into his room to find I, Robot sitting on the pillow on his bed. Puzzled, he looked about as if expecting to see someone standing there but there was no one. Shrugging to himself, Richard scooped up the book and sat in his chair, removed the bookmark and without looking away from his page, placed the bookmark on the nightstand.
22
The next morning, Peggy walking past the dimly lit dining room, noticed a lone person sitting at the end of a table near the kitchen. The old lady stared toward the kitchen in anticipation, as if waiting for someone to come out at any moment. Squinting, Peggy walked closer to see who it was. She made her way towards the wall were the light switches were. In a moment of recognition she spoke. “Florence? Is that you?”
“Oh, deary!” Florence looked confused in that moment.
“What are you doing here all by yourself?” asked Peggy meekly.
“I’m starving. What time is it?” asked Florence with a look of confusion.
“It’s almost breakfast time, you poor dear. I’ll go see if I can get you something right away, sweetie.”
“Blueberry pancakes!” said a smiling Florence as she fished her teeth from her pocket and picked the lint off them. Muttering she said to herself “I’d love me some blueberry pancakes with butter and syrup right now.”
Peggy emerged shortly from the kitchen with a plateful of exactly what Florence had asked for. She was smiling at Florence as she set the plate down before the old lady.
“Oh, thank you!” said Florence as she scooped up
the fork and knife, the confused look was gone now that she had food before her. And not just any food, her blueberry pancakes with butter and maple syrup. Her favourite syrup, which was made right there in her home town of Carlton!
Peggy pulled a chair and sat near Florence. “I guess it pays to be a regular at this fine restaurant, huh Florence. I didn’t even have to ask. He’d already had it made for you.”
Finding residents sitting there waiting to eat had become a regular occurrence. So much so that most of the cooks came in early and always peaked into the dining room to see if anyone would be anxiously awaiting their breakfast that day. Today it was Florence’s turn it seemed.
Florence smiled at Peggy with a mouthful as syrup dribbled down her chin.
“Did you sleep well, deary?” asked Peggy. “Are the pills helping?”
Florence swallowed her mouthful before replying. “Oh yes. I sleep soundly now. I never even woke up when Victor came to see me last night.”
A warm feeling washed over Peggy when Florence smiled again. For the first time since her husband Cecile’s passing, she looked happy. And even though it might only last a few moments of blueberry bliss, Peggy would sit here and enjoy every moment of it. This is the reason she loved her job.
23
Richard could feel the arthritic pain in his crackling joints as he walked towards Florence’s table. She sat sipping tea in front of a slew of empty plates, bowls and saucers. But before reaching her table, he stopped at the table next to her where Victor sat alone. Before him was a full and untouched bowl of oatmeal, he sat sipping what smelled like herbal tea.
“Good morning, Father Richard,” spoke Victor emphasising the word father without turning around.
Richard paused before speaking. He looked straight ahead not wanting to look at the man seated next to him. “Agnes didn’t really ask you to give me her rosary did she?”
“No. No she didn’t. But how would you have known that?”
Richard’s right hand reached into his pocket, past the book to finger the rosary that was clumped up underneath it. “Her rosary was brown; not blue.”
“I didn’t think you knew that.”
Richard, still looking in Florence’s direction, spoke. “I saw what really happened to Darcy.”
Victor’s calm demeanour didn’t change. “I had to. While I still had the strength, I had to.” Victor set down his cup of tea before him. “Are you going to tell on me?” he asked.
Ignoring the question, Richard replied “How could a man of God do such a thing?”
Victor, tea in hand, replied. “I couldn’t let him hurt Agnes again.” Squeezing the thick porcelain cup with mounting anger, a snapping sound echoed as he looked down to see the cup’s handle, broken into four pieces before feeling a jolt of pain shoot through his wrist and up his forearm.
Richard walked away, smiling at Florence as he grasped the chair next to her.
“Mind if I join you?” He pulled the chair out before her reply.
“Father Richard. Please do,” she said with a smile as she watched him sit next to her.
For the first time in a long time, Richard didn’t mind that she had called him Father. He had no idea why he was ok with it as his faith had not been restored. Especially after witnessing Victor, a man of God, kill another man.
“You must have been hungry this morning by the looks of all these empty plates,” said Richard.
“I was famished.” Florence smiled calmly. “Have I ever told you about the time Cecile and I went to Disneyland?”
24
Late that night, Richard watched Maureen as she walked down the hall with an armload of clean towels. She rounded a corner and disappeared into Agnes’s old room. Had someone already moved in he wondered, as he made his way down the hall to investigate.
“Oh dear!” A startled Maureen exclaimed as she saw Richard standing in the doorway in his black housecoat holding a cup in one hand and a book in the other.
“I didn’t mean to startle you,” he said as he peered into the room. “Has someone moved in yet?” he inquired.
“A Miss Palmer is moving in tomorrow. Poor old girl has Alzheimer’s and the family can’t take care of her anymore.”
“Have you seen Victor?” asked Richard. “He’s not in his room.”
Maureen picked up the dirty towels and walked to the doorway. “He never is this late at night. He always wanders the halls and visits those who can’t sleep. You want me to tell him to go see you?”
“That’s ok. I’m going to finish my tea and read a little. Maybe I’ll check on Florence first though.”
“Ok, Father Richard. Just don’t wake her up. Ok?”
“Oh, I won’t,” replied Richard.
25
All was quiet as Richard peered into Florence’s room. He expected to see her sleeping, alone in her room. Instead, to his surprise, he saw Victor standing next to the bed. He was in the process of fixing her blankets while Florence slept soundly. Victor was already looking directly at Richard as if he had heard him coming. Large beads of sweat glistened on Florence’s face as she shivered in her bed.
“Is she sick?” asked Richard.
“She’ll be fine in a few minutes,” replied Victor.
Richard, not knowing what to think about that statement could only ask. “How do you know that?”
“Trust me, Father Richard.” Victor spoke with a slight scowl of annoyance.
Richard gestured, book in hand, towards Victor asking. “Is- is that blood on your shirt?”
Victor looked down to see a few spots as big as dimes, maybe even nickels on the front of his shirt. He ignored this comment, walked over and placed his hand on the ex-priests back guiding him towards the door.
Richard stopped at the door, looked Victor in the eyes and spoke. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about the morning that Darcy died. About what I saw.”
Victor, expressionless, replied. “Why don’t you and I go sit down somewhere quiet so we can talk? I’ll get us some tea and come by your room.”
26
Upon entering the ex-priest’s room, Victor noticed the blue rosary hanging off the wood ball of the head board. Fighting back a grin, he carried the tray containing tea and date squares to the small table in the room.
“Sit. Please,” Richard said as he gestured to the second chair he’d set out especially for Victor.
After setting the tray down on the table, Victor spoke as he sat. “Tell me, Father Richard, what is it that you saw that day?”
Richard spoke softly. “I’m not sure what I saw. Maybe my old eyes played tricks on me because I could have sworn I saw you lift him up, so his feet were not touching the chair he stood on. Only to throw him like he weighed nothing, like he was nothing but a plastic doll.” Shifting uneasily in his chair he continued. “I’ve seen much larger men than you, younger and stronger, who wouldn’t be able to do what I saw you do.” Victor sat quietly watching Richard carefully as the former priest continued speaking in a hushed tone. “And then you cracked open his skull on the floor like it was a soft melon.” Richard looked at his old hands and then looked at Victor. “My joints ache. I can’t even open a prescription bottle anymore. I don’t have the strength.”
Victor picked up his cup calmly as he spoke. “He was hurting Agnes and others too. Some of these people are lost to the world now and don’t know any better. Why should they have to suffer at the hands of that bastard?”
“Do you think God will forgive you for that?” asked Richard.
Victor smiled slightly at the thought of a man who had lost his faith, now asking about his. “Do you?”
Ignoring the reply, Richard pointed to Victor’s swollen knuckles and asked. “How could a man of your advanced age, with arthritis as bad as you have it? How could you possibly manage to kill a large brute like Darcy?”
Victor sipped his tea. Looking up from his cup at the old man before him and asked “Can I trust you to keep my secrets?”
“Yes, of course,” Richard said.
“Swear to God?” asked Victor.
“If it makes you feel better to hear me swear to your God then why not. Yes, I swear to God.”
Victor glanced at the rosary hanging from the bed post and sipped his tea. “You know, Father Richard, this is not the first time we’ve had this conversation.” Victor watched Richard take up his cup of tea as he added. “But I suppose you were heavily medicated the first time we spoke thirty-seven years ago.”
Richard replied “I vaguely recall the time I spent hospitalized, especially the early weeks.”
“You see, I’m not like the other residents here at Sleepy Meadows. I’m from London, England you know.”
“London? But you don’t have an accent?” said Richard inquisitively.
“It took a very long time but I eventually lost it. I’m very old, much older than anyone in this place you know.”
“Victor, are you ok?” asked Richard as he sipped his tea.
Victor spoke as he watched Richard’s reaction carefully. “I’m what most would call a vampire, Father Richard. Although nothing like in the books you’re reading or in the movies; I don’t turn into a bat you know.”
Richard, speechless and dumbfounded for the first time in his life said nothing as he fumbled his cup of tea, which was now near empty. Victor took the cup from Richard and set it down on the tray. He smiled at Richard. “No, Father Richard; I am not crazy. I really am a vampire. You see, Father; vampirism is more like a disease.” Victor glanced towards the door to make sure no one could hear him.
Richard spoke. “But you’re a man of God.”
Victor took on a more serious tone as he continued. “Yes. Yes I am a man of God. God is real. And just like vampires, He isn’t what most of mankind thinks Him to be.”
Richard shook his head in disbelief as he pointed a finger at Victor and smiled. “If you really are a vampire, then what are you doing in this place? And vampires don’t have arthritis.”
Sleepless Nights Page 6
