by Amy Cross
A few minutes later, once she's spent some time running around searching for all the stuff she needs, I hear the front door opening and then slamming shut, and I realize she's finally gone.
I sit in silence, listening to the house. Suddenly I realize that I forgot to ask about the light, which means I have no idea whether the light-bulb here in my bedroom has been left on or off. Not that it matters, of course, but I'd still like to know. It's probably on. She used to leave it on before.
“Okay,” I mutter finally, leaning forward and fumbling until I find my laptop. “Time to find out what happened in this house, and who lived here before us.”
Chapter Eight
Alice - Twenty years ago
“What did you give him?” Doctor Ames shouts, as he frantically checks the bottles on the trolley. “Alice! What the hell did you give the boy in room five?”
“His medicine,” I stammer, trying not to panic as I listen to the sound of the resuscitation efforts. “I only gave him -”
“His medicine is right here!” he yells, pointing at a set of pills. “That's what you were supposed to give him!”
“Then...”
Pausing, I try to work out what I did wrong. I gave all the patients their medicine, and I was so careful to make sure that I didn't make a mistake. I counted everything out and double-checked, triple-checked even, but clearly somehow I made a mistake. My mind is racing, but I'm sure I followed all the usual steps.
“There are some blood-thinners missing!” he says after a moment, turning to me with shock in his eyes. “Please, tell me you didn't give him those blood-thinners! Not after the operation he had last night.”
Pushing past me, he runs out of the office and through to the patient's room.
“It's the amilocyclin!” he shouts to the others. “Blood-thinners! They must have reacted with the morphine, and I think they've set off his allergies too! He's going to bleed out if we don't do something fast!”
With tears in my eyes, I hurry after him, although I stop as soon as I see the other nurses desperately trying to get a tube down the boy's throat. His whole body is shuddering violently and there's blood not only all over his chin but soaking through his bed-sheets too. With each passing second, his body seems to buck and jolt harder than ever, and two nurses are having to hold him down as another tries to get a needle into his arm.
“Why the hell was he given amilocyclin?” another doctor shouts.
“It was a mistake!” Doctor Ames yells as he grabs a needle from the trolley. “One of the nurses screwed up!”
“What did you do?” asks Angela Ajo, one of the other nurses, as she steps up behind me.
“I... I think I...”
“Did you give him the wrong medicine?” she continues. “Alice, please tell me you didn't do that...”
“She did,” another voice whispers, “and now I'm dead.”
Turning, I find Anthony staring at me. His eyes are so calm, but his flesh is pale yellow and there's blood all over his chin.
“You killed me,” he says calmly, taking a step closer. “You're so stupid, you made a mistake and now I'm dead. You're a nurse, you were supposed to look after me, but instead you did this.”
“No,” I stammer, stepping back as tears stream down my face, “I didn't, I... I mean, I...”
“Do you know how much it hurt as blood leaked out through my stomach and my liver failed?” he asks. “Do you even know what real pain feels like? Even when they were trying to save me, when they were shoving that tube down my throat and all the blood was flowing out through the stitches in my belly, I could hear them yelling at each other. And then when they tried to open the stitches so they could take another look at the wound, the pain was like nothing I could ever have imagined. None of that would have happened if you'd just paid attention and given me the right medicine.”
I shake my head.
“He's coding!” a voice shouts in the distance. “Get a team in here!”
“And then my heart stopped,” he adds, still watching me with an expression of pure hatred. “I felt that too.”
Turning, I watch in horror as a team works on the boy, but I already know that they won't succeed. Every detail of this day is etched into my memory, but I still can't look away as one of the doctors pulls the paddles aside and starts checking for a pulse. So many doctors and nurses, so much frantic action, and at the center of it all is one little boy who's dying because of a mistake I made.
“It hurt so much,” Anthony's voice whispers in my ear. “All because you weren't paying attention and gave me the wrong pills.”
I turn, but suddenly I realize my eyes are closed. Opening them, I find that I'm in the dark, silent kitchen. I must have nodded off for a moment and slipped into a dream. Reaching up, I touch the side of my face and feel cold sweat running down my cheeks. My heart is racing, pounding in my chest with so much force, I feel for a moment as if I might pass out.
I get to my feet, but my legs are trembling and I quickly sit down again. Those dreams are always so vivid and so real, it's like I'm transported back to that awful day. I just wish I could stop reliving those moments, but then again...
It's no more than I deserve. After all, the boy is right, and so is Father. I did kill Anthony Harper. I was sloppy and careless, and he died in agony because of my mistake.
Chapter Nine
Rachel - Today
“Number five, Harlock Drive,” I say again, making sure to pronounce each word as clearly as possible.
“You searched for... Sherlock Holmes,” the laptop's voice replies. “Confirm?”
“No!” I hiss, before letting out a sigh of frustration. This goddamn voice recognition software is driving me nuts, although I know the problem is at least partly on my end. After all, back when I could still see and I was living a normal life, I was always something of a mumbler.
I pause for a moment, taking a deep breath.
I can do this.
“Search,” I say firmly. “Number five, Harlock Drive.”
“You searched for... Numbering hive, Harlock Drive.”
“Close enough,” I mutter. “Yes. Read search results.”
“First result. Property listings for Harlock -”
“Dismiss.”
“Second result. Restaurants in Harlock -”
“Dismiss.”
“Third result. Community center and -”
“Search within news category,” I tell the program, once again taking care to speak as clearly as possible.
“Searching within news category.”
I wait. This laptop is so old, it might as well be steam-powered.
“First result. Local nurse in court over death of boy aged eight.”
It can't be that.
“Dismiss.”
“Second result. Nurse accused over child's death.”
“Dismiss.”
“Third result. Harlock Drive nurse Alice Bradshaw faces review over fatal pill error.”
I pause, before figuring that maybe I should at least check this one out.
“Open link,” I tell the computer.
I wait a moment, sitting alone on the bed and listening to the silence of the house. After a moment, the laptop's fan comes to life, whirring as the machine starts over-heating.
“Read result,” I continue.
“Alice Bradshaw,” the computer continues, “of five, Harlock Drive, made her first appearance in front of a review board on Monday, in connection with the death of eight-year-old Anthony Harper. Ms. Bradshaw, aged twenty-eight, stands accused of administering the wrong medication during a shift late last year, causing the young boy to die from a rare, fatal reaction to blood-thinning medication.”
“She lived here,” I whisper. “She lived in this exact same house.”
“Hospital representatives insist that safeguards were in place to ensure that patients were protected, but the family of Anthony Harper are calling for more to be done so that errors made by an individual
nurse can't result in potentially fatal doses being given to patients. The review board is expected to speak to everyone who was working on the ward when Anthony died, and will also consider hospital-wide policies regarding drug administration.”
For the next few minutes, I listen to the rest of the news story, until finally the speech program gets to the end of the page. It's pretty clear that twenty years ago, a nurse who lived in this house was accused of giving the wrong medication to a kid at the local hospital, and the kid died. Still, I was expecting something a little more shocking, so I tell the program to go back to the search results and try again. I guess it's possible that Alice Bradshaw went nuts and murdered people, but I need to know for sure. Mum was definitely keeping something from me earlier.
“Search,” I tell the computer, “Alice Bradshaw, number -”
Suddenly I hear a loud bump from one of the other rooms, as if something was briefly knocked against the floor. I freeze, and I hear it the bump a couple more times before finally the house falls silent again.
I wait.
“Mum?” I call out eventually.
No reply.
There's no way she should be back from work already. She's only been gone for a couple of hours, but I definitely heard something.
“Mum?”
Silence.
I tell myself that the house is just settling, but I can't deny that my heart is racing now. I sit completely still, waiting in case there's another noise, but after a few minutes I start feeling pretty dumb. Obviously a freak gust of wind blew through an open window and caused a door to move. I mean, Mum never leaves windows open at night, especially not when she's going out to work and leaving me alone, but this is a new house so I guess she made a mistake.
Either that, or there's a burglar and I'm gonna get raped and murdered.
“I have a gun!” I call out, lying my ass off. “I'm not afraid to defend myself!”
Silence.
Sighing, I lean back on the bed.
“Or just shoot myself,” I mutter, suddenly feeling exhausted. “Maybe I should just give up. At least getting attacked by a burglar would be interesting.”
I should get back to the laptop and resume my search, but I feel drained and all I want to do is sleep. I reach over and fumble for the baseball bat, before setting it next to me on the bed. Closing my eyes, I tell myself I'll just try to rest for a few minutes, but I quickly feel my mind starting to drift. This whole blindness thing forces me to concentrate a lot more than usual, and right now I'm developing one hell of a headache.
Suddenly I hear another loud banging sound, and I sit bolt upright.
The sound is coming from a nearby room, definitely upstairs, and it sounds like someone is repeatedly hitting the floor with something hard. And then I realize I can hear another sound, too. Someone is playing a piano in the distance.
Chapter Ten
Alice - Ten years ago
“I'm coming!” I call out, hurrying up the stairs as Father continues to slam his cane against the floor. “I heard you! I'm coming!”
He doesn't stop, though, not even as I reach the room and rush over to his bed. Taking the cane from his trembling, swollen hands, I lean it back against the wall.
“What's wrong?” I ask, switching on the lamp. “It's three in the morning.”
“I need to pee!” he hisses.
I can't help sighing. “Your pan is -”
“You need to do it for me.”
“But -”
“You're supposed to help me, aren't you?” he snaps. “I need to pee! I can't do it by myself!”
Realizing that he's not going to even try, I grab the metal pan from the table and slip it under the duvet. I've tried so many times to teach him how to do this, but he seems completely unable or unwilling to learn.
“Pull your pajama bottoms down,” I tell him.
“I can't. You'll have to do it.”
I already knew he'd say that. Still, it was worth a shot. Reaching under the duvet, I pull his pants down and then take a moment to maneuver the pan into place. Then I flinch as I gently tuck his penis into place.
“Okay,” I tell him, “you can -”
Before I'm able to finish, I hear that he's started to pee.
“I was banging for ages!” he mutters grumpily. “What's wrong with you? Are you deaf?”
“I'm sorry,” I whisper under my breath.
“You can't just ignore me when I need something,” he stammers. “Do you want me to wet the bed? Is that it? Do you hate me so much, you want me to suffer indignity after indignity?”
“Of course not. I came as fast as I could.”
“You're pathetic,” he continues, wincing with pain. “God knows how you even lasted a year as a nurse. I'm surprised you didn't kill someone sooner.”
I swallow hard, resisting the urge to scream. A moment later, I hear that he's finished.
“I'm done!” he barks. “What are you waiting for? Get it out of here!”
I pull the bedpan out and see dark, slightly bloody urine sloshing at the bottom. The smell is striking, too, and it's clear that his kidneys are still struggling.
“What are you looking at it for?” he asks. “There's nothing to see! Dopey little bitch!”
“I just -”
“I want to go to sleep now!” he yells, swinging his cane at me. “Get out!”
I pull back just in time, but I accidentally tip the bedpan and spill its contents all over the floor.
“What did you do that for?” he sneers. “Clean it up! I'm not sleeping in a room with piss all over the place! What the hell is wrong with you?”
“Of course, I -”
Suddenly he grabs me by the collar, and he pulls me closer before I even have a chance to break free. As I struggle to stay up, I shift my weight a little and feel my right knee dipping into the puddle of warm urine on the floor.
“You need to buck your bloody ideas up, girl,” he says firmly, leaning close enough for me to smell his foul breath. “The way you're treating me at the moment is basically abuse, do you realize that? It's like you don't care at all! Is this what you were like with that poor little boy you killed? Were you so busy daydreaming, you couldn't even be bothered to give him the right medicine?”
“Father -”
“Get out of here!” he adds, pushing me away. “Clean up that mess and let me sleep. I've had enough of you for one night! I hope the boy shows up tonight. I hope he haunts you for the rest of your goddamn life!””
For the next few minutes, I work to quickly wipe up the urine and clean the floor. I know he's watching me, and he's probably waiting for me to make a mistake, so I take extra care to get everything right. Finally, once I'm done, I hurry out of the room and pull the door shut, and then I stop and take a deep breath on the landing. My father's words are still ringing through my head, but I know I just have to stay calm. He's in a lot of pain, and he doesn't mean most of what he says.
Spotting a hint of light over at the window, I turn and see that the sun has already begun to rise. Morning is coming, bringing another day to be spent working in the house, looking after my dying father. Sometimes I think I shall never get out of here. Perhaps I'll even haunt the place one day, long after I'm dead.
Still, the night has passed without the boy making another appearance. I felt him, though. He was right next to me while I was cleaning Father.
Chapter Eleven
Rachel - Today
“I was fine all night,” I tell Mum as she finishes fixing breakfast. “Seriously. I just checked some stuff on my laptop and then I went to sleep.”
That's a lie, of course.
What actually happened is that after the sounds of the piano and the banging stopped, I spent several hours sitting completely still on my bed, gripping my baseball bat, terrified in case there was a burglar. I damn near called the police, and I only held back because I figured they'd think I was just some scared little kid. Besides, what kind of burglar goes around s
macking the floor and tinkling on a non-existent piano? It's pretty clear that either I imagined the whole thing or, more likely, the sounds came from my laptop.
Either way, the house stayed quiet for the rest of the night and eventually I drifted off into a light, nervy sleep until I heard Mum coming home. I've never been so glad to hear her key in the door.
“So you didn't mention the crazy nurse who used to live here,” I say after a moment.
“The what?”
I can immediately hear the concern in her voice.
“I checked online,” I continue, with a faint smile. “I found a news article about some nurse named Alice Bradshaw who lived here twenty years ago. Apparently she accidentally gave some kid the wrong medicine on a hospital ward, and he ended up dying. I mean, as mistakes go, that's a pretty huge one.”
I wait for a reply.
“Mum?”
“What else?” she asks.
“What do you mean?”
“Did you read anything else about her?”
“No, why?”
Again, I wait.
“What else is there?” I continue.
“Nothing,” she replies, but she definitely sounds flustered. “I just didn't want to tell you, that's all. I thought it might freak you out.”
“So what happened to her?” I ask.
“I don't know, why does it -”
“I'll find out eventually,” I continue. “I mean, searching online takes forever using voice commands, but you know full well that I'm persistent. Come on, you might as well just save me the effort and tell me the truth right now. And don't tell me you don't know, because that's blatantly a lie.”
I hear her coming over to the table, and a moment later she places something in front of me.
“Here's your cereal, Rachel.”
