The Ghost and Little Marie

by Anna J. McIntyre

  “It’s still in my office. I would have brought it with me, but I was going into the dining room when I noticed you coming back into the building and heading to Marie’s room. I wanted to catch you before you left again.”

  “Is it alright if I walk down there and get it?” Normally Danielle would have told Sunny to keep the cinnamon rolls, considering the situation, yet since she needed an excuse to have a look around the facility, she decided this was not the time to be pastry generous.

  “Certainly. My office is locked, but I’d be happy to walk down with you.” Sunny smiled.

  “Is it okay if I meet you there in a minute? I mean your office. I wanted to check Marie’s room one more time, see if Adam and I forgot anything. Since I’m being so forgetful today, I just figure it would be best to check.” Danielle forced a smile.

  “Why, certainly. I need to stop in the dining room for a minute anyway. And then I’ll meet you back at my office.”

  Danielle flashed Sunny another smile.

  Sunny started to turn away and head back down the hall when she paused and looked back at Danielle. “By the way, who were you talking to a minute ago?”

  “The woman staying in that room.” Danielle pointed to the nearby open door.

  Sunny frowned. “No one’s staying in that room.”

  Danielle glanced nervously from Sunny to the open doorway leading to the room she had thought belonged to the elderly woman in the nightgown. It then dawned on her. The woman was a spirit, most likely someone who had died in that room. Danielle cursed herself for not realizing something was off when the woman claimed to have seen Marie leaving the building. A spirit will see another spirit, but less likely a living patient will. And if the woman actually saw Marie leaving, it had to have been Marie’s spirit she saw, Danielle thought.

  “I was just embarrassed to admit—I—I was talking to Marie,” Danielle lied.

  Sunny’s expression softened. “I understand. I still talk to my mother, and she has been gone for three years now.”

  Danielle awkwardly excused herself, promising to meet Sunny in her office in a few minutes. As she made her way down the hallway to Marie’s room, she muttered under her breath, “Walt is right. I’ve honed the ability to lie on a dime.”

  When Danielle reached the entrance to Marie’s room, she glanced back down the hallway. Sunny was no longer in sight, and she didn’t see the woman in the nightgown. She once again entered Marie’s room.

  “Marie?” Danielle called out. “Any chance you’re here?”

  Nothing.

  With a deep breath, Danielle headed back down the hallway. She paused at the open doorway leading to the room Sunny claimed had no occupant. Looking into the room, she noticed there were no sheets on the bed, and no sign anyone was using the room.

  Just as Danielle turned back into the hall, the woman’s voice called out, “Did you come to visit me?”

  Danielle looked back into the room again. She found the elderly nightgown-clad woman sitting on the edge of the unmade mattress.

  “Hello,” Danielle whispered as she stepped into the room. “You mentioned you saw my friend leaving?”

  “I asked her where she was going.”

  “Did she say?” Danielle asked.

  The woman shook her head. “No. But she wanted to know if I saw someone running down the hallway. I told her they ran out the back door. She followed them.”

  “Who did my friend follow?”

  “The same person who ran out of her room.”

  Before Danielle could ask another question, the woman vanished.

  “Please, please come back!” Danielle called out. There was no response.

  By the time Danielle reached Sunny’s office, she was convinced Marie’s spirit had not returned to the nursing home since Evan had seen her at the police station. And the more Danielle thought about it, the more it made sense. Why would Marie return to the nursing home, a place she loathed? It was more likely she would go to her own house or perhaps show up at her funeral before moving on. One thing Danielle knew about spirits—spirits of the newly departed elderly tended to adjust more quickly to their death and grasp their new reality far better than a premature or unexpected death.

  When Danielle arrived back at the office, Sunny was already inside waiting for her.

  “Here it is.” Sunny handed Danielle the bakery sack. “It smells awful good.”

  “It’s cinnamon rolls from Old Salts Bakery.” Danielle paused a moment and then offered the sack to Sunny. “Would you like one?”

  Sunny gently nudged the sack back to Danielle. “I appreciate the offer. Unfortunately, I can’t do sugar this early in the day. But they do smell good. You brought them for Marie, didn’t you?”

  “Yes. Marie loved cinnamon rolls.” The reality of Marie’s death now settling in, Danielle added, “I’m going to miss Marie.”

  Nine

  A sack of cinnamon rolls in one hand, her purse’s strap slung over a shoulder, Danielle made her way from Sunny’s office, past the front nurses’ station, and through the main lobby. Unlike the nurses’ station in Marie’s area, the front one was a hub of activity as staff members dealt with the needs of its patients and questions from visiting family members.

  As Danielle headed toward the rear of the building, where she had parked her car, she made her way through the main lounge area. On her right was a row of five recliners, each occupied by an elderly resident. Several of the residents were hooked to portable oxygen tanks, one was reading a book, and two napped. Ahead was a game table where a staff member sat with two of the residents playing a board game. Danielle spied an elderly man making his way to the dining room with his walker, while several people sat quietly in wheelchairs in random spots along the perimeter, either napping or people watching.

  Danielle was about halfway through the lounge area when one elderly woman reached out to her from a wheelchair. She grabbed hold of Danielle’s paper sack.

  “Old Salts! It’s from Old Salts!” the woman cried out, clutching the sack and refusing to let go.

  Danielle, who had come to an abrupt halt, looked down at the woman who was now clutching the bag. It was obvious to her the woman had spied the bakery’s logo on the sack, and by her reaction, she was a fan of the bakery.

  As quickly as she had grabbed the paper sack, the woman released her hold and slunk back guiltily in her wheelchair. She looked up at Danielle and blushed. “I’m sorry.”

  Danielle smiled down at the woman. “You’re familiar with Old Salts Bakery?”

  The woman nodded. “Every Saturday, my husband would bring me one of their cinnamon rolls.”

  “Does he still?” Danielle asked.

  The woman, now clutching the quilted throw draped over her lap, shook her head. “Gene died this past year. No one brings me cinnamon rolls anymore.”

  Glancing over to a nearby empty chair, Danielle impulsively reached over and pulled it next to the wheelchair and sat down. She opened the sack and grabbed a cinnamon roll. “Would you like one now?”

  “Oh no, I can’t take your cinnamon roll! I didn’t mean for you to give me one.” The woman sounded embarrassed. “But when I saw the bag…and I thought of Gene…” She teared up.

  “Please, if you would like one.” Pulling a napkin from the sack, Danielle tucked it under the cinnamon roll and handed it to the woman. “I brought these for my friend. She loved cinnamon rolls. But…she’s not here anymore.”

  Licking her lips, the woman accepted the roll. After taking a bite, she gave a little moan.

  Danielle smiled. “They are good, aren’t they?”

  “Aren’t you going to have one?”

  “Now that you mention it…yes, I am.” Danielle removed a second roll from the sack and took a bite.

  “Is your friend the one who died last night?” the woman asked a moment later.

  “How did you know?” Danielle asked.

  “You said she loved cinnamon rolls, past tense. And I saw you earl
ier, walking with that young man. Someone said he was her grandson.”

  “Yes.” Danielle took another bite of the roll.

  “She used to visit me in my room,” the woman told Danielle.

  “Marie visited you?” Danielle asked.

  “Well…I’m not sure she ever told me her name. And if she did, well, I’m not very good at names. But I know she was only staying for a few weeks, until she got better from her surgery. They keep those patients in the back.” The woman took another bite of her cinnamon roll.

  “I didn’t realize Marie ever visited any of the residents here.”

  “I don’t think she wanted anyone to know. She would sneak in my room late at night, when everyone was asleep. She would tell me secrets.”

  “Secrets?”

  The woman nodded. “And when I heard that the woman died—and they said she was the only one staying on that wing—I knew it was her.”

  “What did you mean Marie told you secrets?” Danielle asked.

  “Oh, I can’t tell you that,” the woman whispered. “Can’t tell secrets.” She popped the last bite of cinnamon roll in her mouth and quickly licked her fingers.

  “Okay, Mabel, time for physical therapy,” a male voice announced.

  Danielle looked up to a thirtysomething man dressed in white slacks and shirt.

  “Do I have to?” the elderly woman moaned.

  “I’m afraid so,” the man said, flashing Danielle a friendly smile.

  “Thank you for the cinnamon roll,” the woman called out to Danielle as the man pushed her away in the wheelchair.

  Just as Danielle stood up, she turned to find Sunny standing behind her.

  “I see you met Mabel,” Sunny said with a smile.

  “I hope it’s okay, I gave her one of the cinnamon rolls…I suppose I should have asked someone first,” Danielle said guiltily.

  “Oh no, that’s fine. Mabel’s husband used to bring her cinnamon rolls every week.”

  “She mentioned he died.”

  Clipboard in hand, Sunny nodded. “Yes. Mabel has been with us a couple of years now. Her husband wasn’t able to care for her anymore, but he faithfully visited her every day. He had a heart attack about six months ago. Poor thing, she has been alone since then. They didn’t have any children, and other than her late husband, she’s never had any other visitors.”

  “That’s so sad.” Danielle glanced over to Mabel, who was just being wheeled into the therapy room off the main lobby.

  Sunny nodded. “Yes, it is.”

  “I understand she made friends with Marie.”

  Sunny frowned. “With Marie?”

  “She told me Marie used to visit her at night.”

  Sunny let out a sigh. “No, she’s wrong. It’s possible they talked in the dining room, but Marie never visited Mabel’s room.”

  “She did say it was late at night—that Marie snuck over,” Danielle explained.

  Sunny shook her head. “No. Poor Mabel lives in her own little world. She tends to make up stories—talks about imaginary visitors. I think she believes her stories. But most of them are simply products of her imagination. I think she’s just lonely. These pretend friends comfort her.”

  “That really is sad…”

  Sunny glanced down at her clipboard and then looked up at Danielle and smiled. “I really need to be going. I’ve rounds to make. I imagine you’re heading home?”

  “Yes. I was on my way to the rear parking lot.”

  Sunny reached out and briefly touched Danielle’s elbow. “I want you to know I’m very sorry about your friend. I had a great deal of respect for her. She never complained about her physical therapy—she was determined to do whatever the therapist asked of her so she could go home. I wish all of our patients were like that.”

  “Unfortunately, she didn’t make it home.”

  “True. But I don’t think it had anything to do with her surgery. Not directly, anyway.”

  “What do you mean not directly?” Danielle frowned.

  “She was ninety-one. Surgery taxes anyone’s body—but for a woman her age—well, sometimes our bodies just give out. I sincerely believe it was simply Marie’s time to go.”

  Danielle chatted with Sunny a few moments longer, and then the two parted, Sunny heading off to a patient’s room, and Danielle to the main corridor leading to the back lobby.

  Thirsty from the cinnamon roll, Danielle stopped along the way at a water cooler and began filling a paper cup with cold water. She spied the nurse who had told Adam and her about his grandmother’s death, SeAnne. The nurse was talking to a man in a wheelchair about six feet away. The man seemed angry.

  “You have to give me something!” the man shouted.

  SeAnne glanced down at the clipboard she was holding and then looked up at the man. “I’m sorry, Mr. Sharpe. But you had your pain medication two hours ago. I can’t give you another pill for another two hours.”

  “It’s not working. I swear, my leg hurts more than it did before I took the damn pill!”

  “Let me see what I can do,” she said calmly.

  “That’s what you told me yesterday!” he snapped.

  “I promise. I will talk to your doctor and see if he can prescribe something else.”

  Several minutes later, Danielle found herself walking down the hallway with the young nurse.

  “He seemed awful upset,” Danielle noted.

  “They just don’t understand. We have to monitor the pain medications so closely. It’s not like candy that we can just hand out when they want it.”

  “I understand pain meds can be pretty addictive,” Danielle said.

  “Unfortunately. And some patients believe since they’re living here full time, then there should be no problem with us giving them more pills.”

  “Ironically, Marie always complained about having to take too many pills here,” Danielle said.

  SeAnne smiled. “I don’t know about that. But I do know Marie never asked for additional pain medication.”

  “Well, some people have a higher tolerance for pain than others.”

  “True.” SeAnne readjusted the clipboard in her arm as she walked down the hallway with Danielle. “I noticed you visiting with Mabel.”

  “Yes. I gave her one of the cinnamon rolls I’d brought for Marie.”

  “That’s nice. I seem to remember her husband used to bring her those.”

  Danielle glanced over to the nurse. “She told me Marie used to visit her at night, but Sunny said that wasn’t true.”

  SeAnne smiled. “Mabel does have an active imagination. She was sitting in the back lobby this morning when the funeral home picked up Mrs. Nichols. She didn’t actually see them take her away, but she knew why they were here. After she found out the patient staying in the rehab center was the one who had died, she got it into her head that it was her friend staying in rehab.”

  Now near the rear nurses’ station, Danielle and the nurse stopped walking.

  “There’s no one else staying in the rehab right now, is there?”

  “If you mean someone aside from one of the permanent residents, no. The last month has been oddly quiet. I don’t ever remember having just one patient in rehab before. But I suppose that’s a good thing.”

  “True.”

  “Working in a place like this, we know our full-time residents will probably die here. That’s a given. But when one of our patients like Mrs. Nichols—someone who is only supposed to be here for rehabilitation—dies, well, I have to admit it bothers me more than the other deaths.”

  “Does it happen very often?” Danielle asked. “When one of your temporary guests dies here?”

  SeAnne shrugged. “Not really. Since I’ve been here, the only one I know of was Doris Price. It was two months ago. Heart attack. Right in the dining room.”

  “Was she staying in the room on Marie’s corridor, the one facing the rear lobby?”

  “Why yes. How did you know that?” SeAnne asked.

 
“Umm…I must have heard someone talking about her,” Danielle lied.

  “She was a nice woman—yet a bit of a busybody. She loved to hang out by the front nurses’ station and check out all the action. Used to drive poor Sunny crazy. But I have to give her credit, she was always very kind to the woman.” The nurse smiled. “She was here recovering from a knee replacement.”

  “Sunny seems nice,” Danielle noted.

  SeAnne nodded. “Yes, and she really cares about the residents here.”

  Ten

  Disgusted with the treatment she had received at the Frederickport Police Department, Marie marched angrily toward her house. She might as well go there, she thought. Chances were Edward had already called her son or another family member about her being at the police station. They were probably out looking for her now. She was infuriated that the chief had refused to acknowledge her concerns over the attack at the care home. Instead, Chief MacDonald had just stood there like an idiot, staring blankly at her, listening to her recount what had happened, before making an abrupt turn and going back to his office. Back to his office to call someone about me leaving the home, she thought. Or at least, that was what she had assumed. Marie hadn’t waited around to find out. Instead she had left the police station, fuming.

  “That’s why I didn’t want to stay at that place,” Marie muttered. “Once you go into one of those old folks’ homes, everyone just assumes you’re now a doddering idiot not capable of making any decisions for yourself or being able to see what’s clearly going on right before your eyes!”

  She turned onto her street. One of her neighbors, just two doors down from her house, had just stepped outside, onto his front porch.

  Adam had come to Marie’s house to see his parents, yet he couldn’t bring himself to go inside just yet. Instead, he sat on the side porch, on his grandmother’s rocking chair—the one that had belonged to Emma Jackson. Now Marie, like Emma, was gone. Neither death should have surprised Adam. Emma had been over a hundred when she passed, and his grandmother had surpassed the ninety marker. Yet he couldn’t quite believe Marie was really gone.