The Tenth Ward

by Rockwell Scott

  “Oh yeah? Like where?” Libby instantly considered the morgue and hoped that wasn’t what she meant.

  “You want to see my secret spot?” Libby asked her. “I didn’t even show your dad.”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Okay.” She nodded toward Libby’s gym bag from volleyball practice that she still had. “Bring your gear.”

  On the elevator, Georgia pressed the button for 15R, which was located between floors fourteen and fifteen.

  “I like your bag,” Libby said as they rode. Georgia had a nice, heavy-duty carrier for her tanks that had lots of little pockets.

  “I’ll get you one for Christmas. Oxygen not included.”

  The elevator opened into an area that they clearly were not supposed to be in. It was not a normal ward, but rather a long hallway that still looked like it was undergoing construction. The walls were wood, not painted, and the nice tile that finished the floor in other parts of the hospital was not there. It was also very warm and humid.

  But Georgia led the way confidently, pulling her tank on wheels behind her.

  At the end of the hall was a small security station with a man wearing the same uniform as Harold. He stood as they approached. At first, Libby noted that he looked concerned and confrontational, but when he saw Georgia, he softened.

  “I told you not to come back, Georgia,” the guard said. “You’re going to get me in trouble.”

  “How? I’m literally the best secret keeper ever.”

  “I know, but it’s only a matter of time. If Ms. Shaw figures this out, I’m done for.”

  “I’ll take the fall for you, Sam.”

  Sam glanced at Libby. “Does she keep your secrets?”

  “Every last one,” Libby answered. Georgia smiled at her.

  Sam waved them through. “Okay. Make it quick.”

  “Yes! Thanks, Sam!”

  Georgia tugged Libby’s arm and pulled her past the security desk toward a set of double doors. “No one can say no to me,” she whispered to Libby.

  When the doors opened, a blast of chilly wind hit Libby in the face. The dark hallway disappeared, and they walked outside onto the roof of the hospital. The sounds of the city at rush hour came from far below them, and the sky was orange and purple as the sun fell in the distant horizon.

  “Oh my God,” Libby said. When she looked up, the rest of St. Mary’s fifteen floors towered above her and the platform they were on, making her feel tiny. On the ground was a huge H surrounded with a white circle.

  “Pretty amazing, right?” Georgia said.

  “Yes. This is awesome!”

  Libby took her volleyball from her gym bag and dribbled it. “Want to hit a few?”

  “Are you serious? Yes!”

  “Do you know how to do it?” Libby tossed the ball in the air, and then bounced it off her arms for a few rounds.

  “I’ve seen games on TV,” Georgia said. She mimicked Libby with her hand position, and Libby went to her and corrected her placement, folding them correctly to give her a sturdy landing point for the ball.

  “Get under it, bend your knees, and focus on where you want the ball to go. You don’t need to hit it very hard to have a lot of power. Let’s try.”

  Libby lobbed her the ball, slow and easy and from a short distance. Georgia sent it sailing up in the air with a loud slap from her pale forearms. Libby ran and caught it. The heavy wind around the helipad had taken it off center. “Very nice. Have you done this before?”

  Georgia shrugged and smirked.

  Libby volleyed it to her again, and Georgia hit it back, this time more controlled and accounting for the wind. Libby returned it to her, and Georgia responded. They went back and forth before Georgia finally dropped it.

  “You’re so lucky you get to do this,” Georgia said, picking up the volleyball before it rolled away.

  “You can do it too.” Libby hoped to be encouraging, but really had no idea of Georgia’s limitations with her condition.

  Georgia said nothing, only served the ball to Libby, which she bumped, set, and volleyed back.

  They bounced it between themselves, controlled and easy. “See! You’re doing it,” Libby said. “You could totally do this in a real game.”

  Libby’s next volley was stronger than she’d intended and was swept up by the wind, and Georgia scrambled to get under it. But her oxygen tubing ran out of slack, yanked her face back, and popped out of her nostrils. The tug caused the portable cylinder to fall over, and even though it was in a padded carrying bag it made a loud clank on the concrete.

  Libby rushed over, but she relaxed when she saw Georgia smiling.

  “I need to commission some longer tubing,” she said, stringing the cannula back behind her ears and returning them to her nostrils, panting as if she’d just run a half marathon. She put the portable cylinder right-side-up.

  “Let’s take a break.” Libby was shocked by how quickly the other girl ran out of breath.

  “I’m totally jealous of you,” Georgia said, placing her hands on her hips to catch her breath. “You’re tall, pretty, athletic. You have a cool dad, even though I’m mad at him right now. You probably have a boyfriend.”

  Libby smirked. “I like you, too.”

  “You still wouldn’t want to trade places with me. I wouldn’t let you. What’s your boyfriend’s name?”

  “Justin. Although he isn’t my boyfriend yet. We’re just kind of texting.”

  “Lock him down!” Georgia said. “God, I wish I had a boyfriend.”

  “There’s never any rush for a boyfriend,” Libby said. “I never thought I wanted one, but then I met Justin and things are just kind of happening.”

  “I have a legitimate reason for rushing to get a boyfriend,” Georgia said, and Libby fell silent. “Do you believe in all the stuff that your dad is involved in?”

  “Of course.” Libby was glad for the change of topic. “It’s hard not to. I’ve grown up around it my whole life.”

  Georgia pulled her oxygen along as she walked down the helipad and scooped up the ball. Libby followed her to the edge of the platform, and the heights made her start to feel woozy. Georgia seemed unafraid.

  “Did he tell you about me? And my situation?” Libby nodded. “What do you think about it?”

  Libby looked away. The streetlights below were twinkling to life with the setting sun. Car horns and the sounds of roaring engines floated up from the rush-hour traffic. Libby took a deep breath, and somehow the air seemed clearer up there. Perhaps that was why Georgia visited. “He did the right thing.”

  Georgia frowned and tucked a piece of hair behind her ear, and the wind tugged it out of place again. “I miss my friend.”

  “I know you do.” She paused. “Does that mean you haven’t seen him since my dad was here?”

  “He’s gone.”

  Good, Libby thought. “I know it’s hard, but sometimes it isn’t a good thing when these two worlds come together.” Oh God, I sound like my dad.

  “I didn’t think he was hurting anyone,” Georgia said.

  “Maybe not at first. But who knows what can happen later?” Libby remembered several of her father’s cases that had begun as a benign presence, and then escalated. Most people only waited to contact him after things had taken a turn for the worst. Georgia and her family had been lucky. “Can you forgive him?”

  Georgia shrugged. “I’m already kind of over it. But still. I miss Thomas.”

  Libby put her hands on Georgia’s shoulders and forced the girl to look her in the eyes. “No one is saying you can’t miss Thomas. But it is way better if you stay in the present moment. Focus on life. Not on death.”

  Georgia’s face broke into a smile. Then she nodded. “Okay.”

  “Promise me.”

  “Yes, I will.”

  “Good. I can already tell you’re stronger than a lot of the girls in my class. And you have your very own helipad. Let’s get a selfie because this needs to go on Instagram.”

/>   They spent ten minutes finding the perfect angle for the helipad, the sunset, and their faces. Eighty pictures later, Sam came outside. “Just got a call on the radio. Chopper coming in. Bad accident on the Interstate.”

  Georgia tossed him the volleyball, which he caught easily. “You kicking us out?”

  “Do you want to get crushed?” Sam dribbled the ball between his legs as if it were a basketball.

  “There are some good ones in here,” Libby said, scrolling through her camera roll. “Do you mind if I post them?”

  “Is that a serious question?”

  13

  Georgia tried the chord progression again, but the last one strummed awkward and flat. She groaned and rewound the YouTube video on her laptop.

  The girl in the video demonstrated again, and Georgia watched closely. Eventually, she saw what she was doing wrong with the last chord.

  Georgia paused the video again and strummed her guitar a few more times, and finally it sounded right. As she repeated the chords over and over, she added in lyrics, singing them underneath her breath.

  Singing was hard to do with lungs filled with muck and oxygen running through her nose, but she didn’t care. She liked to sing, so she was going to.

  Three knocks interrupted her song just as it was coming along. The door opened and Nurse Donna appeared.

  “Evening, Georgia,” she said.

  “Hey there.” Georgia twisted in her chair to face the other woman.

  “Where’s your mom and dad?”

  “They went out to eat. They’ll be back later.”

  “Ah, okay. Well, we have a cake out here for Mandy’s birthday.”

  “What kind?”

  “Red velvet.”

  “Mmm. That’ll do. Yeah, I’ll be there in a minute. Going to rock out for a little longer while I have the room to myself.”

  Donna smiled. “Sure thing. It’ll be at the nurse’s station whenever you want it.” She left the door open and walked away.

  Georgia returned to her guitar. After playing through the first verse and singing along a couple times, she figured she had it down. She fast-forwarded the YouTube video to the part that would teach her the chorus.

  Another three knocks.

  “Yeah, just a few minutes more,” Georgia said, keeping her eyes on her laptop. “Don’t tell me y’all ate all the cake already.”

  But when she looked toward the door, no one was there.

  “Mrs. Donna?” Georgia called.

  No answer.

  Georgia turned back to her computer and played the video. The girl used a close-up of her fingers to outline the chord progression for the chorus.

  A loud slam startled Georgia and made her jump.

  She whirled around. The door was closed.

  “Mrs. Donna?” she said again, her voice trembling from the sudden fright. She leaned her guitar against her desk and rose from the chair, pulling her oxygen cylinder behind her as she slowly approached the door that had been open moments before.

  She tried to open it, but it wouldn’t. Hospital doors didn’t lock, so it was like someone were holding it closed from the other side.

  “Hey!” she shouted, slamming her palm against the wood.

  But all the exertion had left her short of breath, and she felt a coughing fit coming on. Georgia backed away and focused on getting her breathing under control. Her coughing fits could last up to fifteen minutes sometimes, and her parents were due back any minute. If they found her coughing, they’d worry about her the rest of the night.

  Her breath leveled off. She readjusted the cannula in her nose and felt the pure oxygen filling her lungs.

  Then she went to the bed and pressed the Call button on the wall.

  Nothing.

  Usually it beeped and lit up red. Georgia mashed it a few more times, but it wasn’t working.

  She then went to the bathroom and pulled on the Call cord that dangled above her toilet. Still nothing.

  “What’s going on?” she whispered to herself.

  Her cell phone was on the bed, plugged into the charger. She was sure she had the number for the nurse station saved in her contacts.

  But she stopped short as her room filled with music.

  At first she thought the YouTube video had unpaused itself, but when she looked at her desk she saw it was her guitar.

  Playing itself.

  The strings pressed down on the frets in flawless chords and strummed, creating a full sound. It was the song she’d been trying to learn. Executed perfectly.

  Georgia stared at the instrument, mouth open in awe. And a tightening ball of anxiety began to form in her stomach.

  Then, an unmistakable soft breath on the back of her neck.

  She whirled around, her hand instinctively going to where the breath had been. But no one was behind her.

  “Thomas?” she said, voice trembling.

  The song ended with a jarring, dissonant chord and fell silent.

  Thomas had played guitar. It would make sense if it were him. But I thought Ghost Man got rid of him?

  “Is that you?” The only sound in the room now was Georgia’s breath. Her pulse rang in her ears. “Please tell me you’re still here. Give me a sign or something.”

  As if on command, the green oxygen cylinder by her bed fell over, landing with a loud clang. The top then burst off, white smoke shooting from the broken handle. The compressed air sent the tank flying across the floor with the speed and force of a torpedo, right toward Georgia’s ankles. She leapt out of the way just in time. It crashed into the wall, leaving a spider web of cracks in the plaster. The television toppled off its stand and dropped to the ground, and the wires were yanked from the electrical sockets.

  Georgia cried out. Her breath turned to rapid pants, and she was no longer able to control it.

  “Thomas! What are you doing?”

  The oxygen cylinder by her side knocked over, the top popping open by itself, just like the first one. It shot across the room, ripping the cannula from her nose as it went. The force was strong enough to pull her off her feet and she face-planted onto the floor. The rogue cylinder crashed against the door and spun in circles as the last of the air inside leaked out.

  She coughed and sputtered, a heaviness in her chest cutting off her breath. And there were no more tanks in the room.

  “Thomas,” she wheezed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want—” She crawled toward her bed, desperate for her phone.

  She reached the foot of the bed, breathless, and fumbled on top for her cell.

  As soon as she grabbed it, the lights in the room went out.

  She whirled around, back propped against her bed, coughing and hacking. It was completely dark inside—even her laptop had shut off by itself. The room was suddenly very cold, frigid, as if she’d walked into a freezer.

  “I’m sorry,” she said again.

  She understood if Thomas was angry for being sent away. But surely he realized it wasn’t her idea. Didn’t he?

  Then, something caught her eye. Although it was dark, she could make out the outline of a figure standing in the corner of the room. A person. A boy.

  Thomas.

  It had been a little over a week since she’d seen him. He stood still and stared at her, even though his features were not clear. Somehow, his shadow was blacker than the surrounding darkness, allowing him to stand out.

  She pointed her phone toward the figure and opened her camera app, then pressed the button. The flash went off, blinding her.

  As soon as the light faded, Thomas was inches away, having crossed the room in a millisecond to stand over her.

  Georgia clenched her eyes shut, covered her ears, and screamed, waiting for whatever Thomas was going to do to her. However he would punish her.

  But then familiar arms were around her. She opened her eyes. The lights were back and her parents were there. Her mom held her close.

  “What happened?” she asked. “Why are you screaming?”

&n
bsp; Georgia didn’t answer. Instead, she only patted her chest, coughing and wheezing. Her dad looked around the room and, finding both tanks empty, ran out into the hallway and shouted for the nurses to bring oxygen.

  Nurse Donna and others rushed in, picked her up, and put her on the bed, then reattached her oxygen and tried to calm her down.

  As she sucked down the oxygen, Georgia’s eyes darted around the room, looking for Thomas. She knew he was still there somewhere, unseen and invisible, hiding from everyone else that had come into the room.

  Waiting for the next time she would be alone.

  14

  It was a Friday morning and Rand drummed his fingers on the steering wheel as he sang along with a Motley Crüe song on the classic rock radio station. It had been ten days since he’d seen Georgia Collins, but she still lingered on his mind.

  He ran into the dry cleaners and gave the girl his ticket. She then retrieved his black suit, which was on a velvet hanger and covered in plastic. Rand thanked her and went to Vicky’s Alterations down the road. There, he put on the suit and stood in front of a mirror as she measured him and put the pins in the coat and waistline.

  “Everything’s tighter,” she said around the sharp needles in her mouth.

  “I’ve taken up weight lifting the past couple of years.” He’d bulked up since the last time he’d worn the suit, especially his thighs. Squats were a killer.

  “When do you need this by?” Vicky asked him.

  “By tonight. I have a thing.”

  She glanced up at him. “You know I’m a twenty-four-hour turnaround.”

  “Do you have an express option?”

  She sighed. “I’ll do it for you this time, Rand. But don’t get used to it.”

  “I already am.”

  The next stop was the gym. It was leg day, so he loaded up a heavy barbell on his back and squatted, face red and forehead sweaty, while his headphones blared Motörhead. When the squats were done, he waddled over to the gym’s pool, changed into swim trunks, and did some laps.

  After he showered, he checked his phone and found a message from Vicky. The suit was finished, so he swung by and picked it up again.