by Dan Dillard
*****
I walked back inside, unsure whether to trust ninety-seven-year-old eyes and almost ran into Rhonda at the front desk.
“Who’s the ride for?” I asked.
“Miss Claudine,” she said after a moment’s hesitation.
My blood cooled to arctic levels. “Really?”
“It’s true,” she says. “It looked like she just went to sleep after breakfast and didn’t wake up.”
“Oh?”
“Yes. It’s so sad. It’s happened to me dozens of times over the years, but I still hate it when my folks go,” she says with a sniff.
“Yeah,” I say.
She nods and wipes a tear.
I still don’t believe Evie. I can’t. She’s just a crazy old bird trying to rope me into some strange fantasy. Me and Andy the non-talker. On the other hand, there is nothing else going on here aside from cribbage and adult diapers, and she and Andy seem legitimately frightened by this ferryman. It might be worth checking into her story just to see what’s what. I can start with Edgar tomorrow. I’ll corner that little shit and find out what his problem is. Come to think of it, this Scooby Doo shit could be the most fun I’ve had in years.
9:15am Wednesday
Breakfast was crap. Not literally, but not far off—so much for the best meal of the day. Come to think of it, I guess you can fuck up an egg. Edgar hasn’t shown his bony ass for work yet, so I can’t spy, but I did get a peek at the schedule, and he’s due for his shift of terror any minute. Actually he’s late, which is not at all surprising to look at him.
I haven’t seen Evie either. Maybe she’s pissed that I laughed at her story. After ninety-seven years, she should be able to handle rejection. I’ll track her down later, after I find Edgar.
But speak of the devil and he appears.
That slimy shit is right down the hall near my room and I’m in here in the parlor watching seniors argue over gin rummy. What’s he doing down there, unless he was in my room looking for me? Could I be so lucky he’s come to take me to that great strip joint in the sky?
I stand up and walk to the entrance of the parlor, just across from the reception desk and wave at Lucy who smiles back. No ducks today on her chubby ass.
“Hi Jimmy,” she says and then looks at Edgar with disdain. “Mornin’ Edgar.”
He gives her a nod but doesn’t acknowledge my existence. If not me, then who? The only room beyond mine belongs to…
Evie.
My heart jumps into my throat at the off chance she was right. Or at the off chance he’s some damned old lady rapist. I jog down the hall to save the only interesting person in the joint.
“Slow down,” Lucy bellows, “you’ll give yourself a stroke!”
I can’t. I rush past an orderly I haven’t met yet and stop at the last door. Evie’s room. Her chart is blank for the day, so Edgar didn’t log his deed, whatever it might have been. My chest burns from the short sprint and I take a second to capture my breath. One deep inhale-exhale later I step into the room and there she lies. Evie, sleeping peacefully.
“Hey, lady. It’s past nine, don’t you think you ought to get up?” I ask, out of breath. Silence. “Evie.”
I approach her and feel suddenly guilty. She was right about the whole creepy thing and the last thing I did was laugh at her. Reaching my hand out, I prepare for the touch of cold skin and no pulse. I’d felt that some years ago when my wife passed. I lay my index and middle finger on her neck to feel for a pulse and close my eyes.
“What in the hell you think you a-doing?” she says.
I feel her impossibly wrinkled hand clamped around my wrist and open my eyes to see the fire in hers.
“I thought you were...”
“You saw Edgar leave my room and thought the worst?”
She laughed and her smile wasn’t pained this time, but joyous.
“He got to touch me. I pretend I’m sleeping and he go away. Done it before, I s’pose I’ll do it again. I know he’ll catch me one day. He may be the ferryman, but he none too bright.”
She gives me a wink.
“It’s sweet that you concerned for ol’ Evie. You believe me now?”
“I guess I do,” I say.
“Good. Now go on and shoo. Meet me out the courtyard in a few minutes. I got me an idea.”
She wants to prove her story to me. What could it hurt? Not like my ungrateful Bill is coming today for a visit, even if it is Saturday. Maybe bring me a sub sandwich, or some home cooking. He’s probably at home getting it on with old fatass. What a picture that makes. I hope it goes on their Christmas card. No, I’ll go hang out with crazy Evie and the mute-on-wheels.
