by David Haynes
“We were there last night,” Donovan said. “How is Lucy?”
“Stable. That’s all I know.”
Wilson and Donovan exchanged a quick look that said everything.
“That’s good,” Donovan said, “I can imagine things are a bit fraught this morning so there’s no need to show us to the Doctor’s office, we can find our own way.”
She looked back down at her desk. It was covered in papers. “Well, I have got to finish my report, go over Joe’s report and then call the...” She lifted her head. “Are you sure?”
“No problem,” Wilson said. “What time did Dr Hamilton get off last night?”
“She didn’t. She only got back from Mercy an hour ago.”
Wilson nodded and started up the stairs.
“Be gentle,” Nurse Jones called up after them. “She’s had a few difficult calls this morning.”
I bet she has, thought Wilson. “Of course,” he replied.
They followed the curved staircase onto the next level and then down the corridor to Louise Hamilton’s office. Unlike the previous day, none of the bedroom doors were open. All of them were shut tight.
They paused outside the office door. Wilson straightened his striped shirt as best he could. His Levi’s were too large and the shirt was too small. It did nothing for his rocked confidence but it was better than a cold, damp shirt that smelled of sour sweat. He knocked.
“Come in!” Her voice sounded tired, like she had a cold coming.
They walked in. “Morning,” Wilson said. “If we’d known you hadn’t been home, we would have brought you breakfast.”
She smiled. “How are you feeling?” she asked, looking straight at him. “Did you go to the hospital?”
“Yes,” he lied. He saw Donovan flinch in the chair next to him. “Just indigestion, that’s what they said. I feel a fool for making such a fuss. I’d prefer to just forget it, if I can.”
Her eyes narrowed, just a touch.
“So how’s Lucy?” he asked, moving on before she could ask him any more questions.
“Stable. For now,” she replied. “Thanks to you two.” She rubbed her temples, sighing. “It’s been a bad couple of days. Very bad.”
There was no arguing with that.
“Lucy’s family are removing her, when and if she recovers enough to leave Mercy. Understandable, I guess. They’re also threatening legal action. Again, perfectly understandable.” She paused, and it looked like tears were forming in the corners of her eyes. “And from a selfish perspective, it probably means the end of my job, maybe my career.”
“But you weren’t even on duty last night,” said Wilson.
“Maybe not physically, but technically I’m always on duty.”
“You’re the only doctor?” Donovan asked.
“Yep,” she replied. “The one and only. But it’s not exactly the ER in here, is it? I mean everyone who comes here is already diagnosed and medicated. My job is to make sure they’re safe and well cared for... for however long they have left.” Her voice cracked and tears spilled down her cheeks. “I’ve not exactly been doing that lately, have I?”
Wilson took some tissues from the box on the desk and passed them to her. She took them then turned around and looked out of the window, dabbing her eyes.
“I’m sorry, I’m not usually so emotional, it’s just...”
“You don’t need to apologize, Dr Hamilton, I think we’ve all been through the ringer the last few days.” He looked at Donovan who was biting his lower lip.
“Usually by the time the patients arrive here, they’ve come to terms with their prognosis,” she said, staring out at the bleak landscape. “And we only did a medication review with Lucy yesterday.” She turned back around, refocused. “She was smiling, almost happy. She didn’t have the strength to climb out of bed to use the toilet, let alone run two miles. Let alone run two miles and then hoist herself into the rafters on chains weighing a hundred pounds or more.”
“She was bedridden, ma… Dr Hamilton?” Wilson asked.
She nodded. “She didn’t have much time left. Two, three days at best. We were prescribing a lot of morphine to control the pain. He family were flying in this morning to be with her when the end came.”
“The same with Thomas?”
“As far as prognosis – yes.” She scrunched the tissue and dropped it in the basket beside the desk. “It’s as if they both suddenly thought, ‘I’m not waiting, I’m going out when I decide. And how I decide.’” She shook her head. “It’s like...”
She looked at them both, as if weighing up if she should say what she was about to. “It’s like their minds, their spirits, gave them one last burst of strength to do what they did. Those stories you hear about parents lifting trucks off their kids, it’s like that. How they did what they did defies medical explanation. Utterly.”
“How did she get out?” Donovan asked. “It’s not as if she could just open the gates and walk through. Didn’t anyone see her?”
“Best guess? Same way Thomas did. Through the forest. From there the mill is just as close as town. Reception isn’t always manned during the night shift. Why would it need to be? The guests don’t usually leave the grounds. They’re not prisoners here and we don’t treat them as such. They can come and go as they please. It’s just that usually most of them can’t go anywhere. They know why they’re here. There’s nothing I could have done differently, nothing I would do differently with either Lucy or Thomas, and I’ve made that clear.”
“To her family?” Donovan asked.
“God no, they wouldn’t talk to me. All lines of communication are to be through their solicitor. Brandon Woolley, ever heard of him?”
They both shook their heads.
“Pardon my French, but what a complete dick. No, I was referring to my boss, the owners of this place. He was on the phone this morning asking me what was going on. Now there’s another dick. Not in the slightest bit bothered about the patients or the staff, just his bottom line going down the pan. Theo fu...” She stopped herself going further. “Theo Lunn, some kind of middle-management pen-pushing attorney. Heard of him?”
“Can’t say I have.”
“You walked into a real shit-storm here, didn’t you? Timed it just right.” She sounded defeated. “I guess you want to know about Frances Pace then?”
Wilson nodded.
“She’s moving,” Dr Hamilton said. “Not like yesterday, thank God. But she’s twitching, her hands mostly, but not exclusively.”
“She is?” said Donovan. “I thought after we’d gone she was back to her previous state.”
“Oh she was, but when Lucy went AWOL, Frances started getting agitated again. Nothing like before, but there was definite movement. Gentlemen...” She looked at them both in turn. “This lady hasn’t moved so much as an eyelid for nearly three years and you two show up and all hell breaks loose. I don’t know if it’s coincidence or if you’ve got some strange superpowers but in the best way possible, I’m not sure I want you around much longer.”
She was smiling but it was a weak effort. She just looked tired.
A few seconds passed and then she stood up. “I need to make my rounds.”
“Aren’t you going home?” Wilson asked.
“Later on, I plan on having a long soak in the bath, listen to some crappy pop music and drink a large glass of Sauvignon. That thought will keep me going. Until then, until I drop, I want to stay. Want a coffee before you go?” she asked. “The machine down the corridor does a passable espresso.”
Wilson nodded and stood up. Donovan pushed his chair back to allow Dr Hamilton through.
“Where are your suits?” she asked, standing by the door.
“Ditched,” Wilson replied.
She looked them both up and down. “Did you bring those with you? You don’t look like lawyers now.”
Did we ever, thought Wilson?
“No, I picked them up in town, at the thrift shop,” Donovan said. He wa
s smiling, looking pleased with himself.
“Ah,” she said, “That explains it.” She opened the door and walked into the corridor.
“What? Explains what?” Wilson asked.
“Why you’ve got my old shirt on.” She walked away.
Donovan started following behind but Wilson grabbed his arm and whispered, “You shit. You knew it was a woman’s shirt.”
Donovan shrugged. “Like I said, they were running short of rock-band memorabilia.”
Wilson let go, watching Dr Hamilton walk away. He wasn’t sure but he thought he heard a snicker from her.
As they reached the coffee machine, raised voices erupted from one of the corridors.
“Oh crap,” Dr Hamilton said. “Just what I need.” She marched away from the coffee machine and stood looking down over the central stairwell.
A cheerful voice echoed up through the void. “Ah, Louise. I didn’t think you would be here after last night’s events.”
Neither Wilson nor Donovan needed to look over the balcony to know who the voice belonged to but they did anyway. Reverend Cavendish stood at the foot of the stairs and he wasn’t alone. With him were a group of fifteen men and women. All of them wore the same buttery, insincere grin as he did.
“Crap,” Donovan whispered.
15
Dr Hamilton met Reverend Cavendish halfway down the stairs. His group followed a short distance behind. Wilson noted that they were all smartly dressed and in their button holes were bright yellow flowers – marigolds.
“Why do they all look like him?” Donovan whispered.
The others didn’t exactly look like Cavendish, but they didn’t look unlike him either. The air of self-important satisfaction they all carried helped.
Wilson and Donovan waited on the landing. Dr Hamilton was trying to conceal her frustration but it shone through. “It’s not your day to visit.”
“You’re right, it isn’t,” Cavendish replied, casting a glance up at them, “but after recent events and the tragedy last night, I thought everyone could benefit from a little...” He steepled his hands. “Reflection.” He smiled at her and then put his hand on top of hers on the banister.
Dr Hamilton looked at his hand. Even from the angle Wilson had, her expression looked pained. Fortunately Cavendish removed it before turning to his acolytes. If he hadn’t, Dr Hamilton looked like she might break it.
“The staff will be as much in need of our prayers as the guests.” He looked over his shoulder at the Doctor. “Isn’t that right, Louise?”
“I think the staff just want to get on with their jobs, Harold,” she replied. It made Wilson smile to hear her using his first name and not giving him the title he used for himself. “And the guests are all tired after what happened last night. Now isn’t the right time to be...”
“Perhaps I should call Theo and ask him? He personally requested I come today, but if you’d rather...”
She stepped to the side. She clearly didn’t like the idea but Wilson guessed she didn’t want another row with her boss, of further risking her career.
“Just take it easy,” she said as the crowd filed past her.
“Gentlemen!” Cavendish said, smiling. “I didn’t expect to see you here this morning.” He looked Wilson up and down and then turned to Donovan. “Or looking quite so informal.”
“We go where we’re needed,” Donovan replied, also smiling. “Similar to you, I guess.”
“I wouldn’t say there are too many similarities, Mr Donovan.” He walked past and nodded at Wilson. “Mr Wilson, you look tired.” He moved on without giving Wilson the chance to respond.
“This way!” He marched along the corridor, stopping outside the first door. He knocked. “Mrs Lewis? Samantha, are you decent?”
There was a muffled response from inside, then Cavendish simply marched in. The others filed in behind him. Quite how that many people would fit inside the room was a mystery, but the door closed behind them.
“They’ll be here all day.” Dr Hamilton took the stairs slowly and stood beside them on the landing. “Which means I get to stay all day too. Woohoo!”
“Why’s that? Can’t you just leave him to get on with it?” Wilson asked. “Whatever it is.”
She raised her eyebrows. “Would you? I mean if this place was your responsibility, would you leave Reverend Cavendish and his weird congregation to get on with it?”
“Probably not.” Wilson grimaced. “Actually, scratch that. Definitely not.”
“Can’t you just throw him out?” Donovan asked.
“Love to,” she replied. “But his boss is also my boss, and the first thing Reverend Cavendish will do if I pitch him into the street will be tell Theo Lunn all about it. And after the last forty-eight, I can’t really afford for that to happen. He knows that too.”
“Same boss?” Wilson asked. “He owns this place and the church?” It felt wrong but maybe there was some sense to it. Somewhere.
“Not him. Theo Lunn is just a lackey, a well-paid lackey no doubt, but just a messenger boy for the organization, the Church of Broken Pieces. They’ve got setups like this all over the country, all the churches named the same and each hospice named after the local town or some other landmark. Some combo, huh?”
Wilson nodded. It was a new one on him.
“Where did he find his congregation, anyway?” Donovan was shaking his head. “Madame Tussauds? Did you see those guys?”
“God knows,” she replied, a smile starting to form. “They’re not from around here, that’s all I know.”
“They’re not?” Wilson asked. “Where do they come from?”
“I don’t know. They come on a bus organized by the Church. I don’t even think Cavendish knows where they come from. Although he likes to think he knows everything, he doesn’t, far from it. Sanctimonious pr...” She stopped herself, smiled with reddening cheeks. “Sorry.”
Donovan smiled too. “Hey, don’t let us stand in the way of a bit of honesty. He’s a dick.”
Wilson shot Donovan a look. It was intended as a telling off. Calling someone a dick wasn’t something he imagined men in the legal profession did. Donovan pulled a face back at him.
Dr Hamilton laughed, an easy chuckle that flashed through her eyes as well as out of her mouth. “Honesty? From lawyers? You two will give your profession a bad name.”
Wilson was relieved she had taken the comment lightly. “Dr Hamilton, what exactly does...”
“Please, just call me Louise. I don’t exactly feel like Dr Hamilton today.”
Wilson shuffled his feet. He felt a little uneasy at the familiarity. Not just because using her first name felt strange, but because the dishonesty about his position, his reason for being in the hospice, was starting to feel awkward, ungainly. Something wasn’t right here and he didn’t want to make things more difficult for her.
“Louise,” he started, “what does he do in there?”
“Pray. I guess,” she replied. “I’ve never stuck around that long. He reads from the Bible, says a few prayers, sometimes they might sing a song, a hymn. That’s about it.”
“And the patients like that?” Donovan asked.
“A mix. Some welcome him, some are too medicated to know who’s in the room, and one or two have told him to get the hell out.”
Wilson nodded. “And where did Thomas stand on the good Reverend? And for that matter, what about Lucy?”
“Thomas was just happy someone had visited him. He would’ve offered Lucifer a chair if he’d walked through the door with a smile. Lucy? Well, she told Reverend Cavendish where he could stick his Bible last week. He didn’t enjoy the suggestion, according to the nurse in the room at the time.” Louise smiled.
A chorus of “Hallelujah!” rang out from the room. They all turned to look. A moment later the door opened and Reverend Cavendish walked out.
“Louise? I think you should come. Margaret has passed on.” The news only tightened his smile a touch. He still looked jovial.
>
She bit her lip.
“Peacefully,” he added and then motioned for his followers to come out of the room. “She has passed to a better place, a place free of pain and suffering. Somewhere she will be forever at peace.”
“Shit,” Donovan whispered. His face crumpled and for a moment Wilson thought he might cry.
“It was expected, John.” Dr Hamilton put a hand on his shoulder. “Today or tomorrow.” She walked across the landing, her shoes clicking like an old typewriter on the tiled floor. Cavendish was already moving to the next room.
“That’s Frances Pace’s room,” Wilson said, already walking quickly toward it. In her condition Frances Pace was unable to speak for herself, to grant the Reverend and his choir entrance to her room, or otherwise. Wilson would have liked to tell them to leave but he had no idea if their presence was something Richard Pace had granted.
He pushed through the crowd. Cavendish was waiting at the door, his hand poised to knock. “We represent Mr Pace, Reverend. Can you tell us what you want with Mrs Pace?”
“Ah, I wondered what your interest here was. You look alarmed, Mr Wilson?”
It irked him that Cavendish thought he looked alarmed. He wasn’t, far from it and he would rather Cavendish had no clue as to how he was feeling. All he wanted was to know what the Reverend’s intentions were in the room.
“You have no reason to been concerned.” He looked at both of them. “Either of you. We are merely providing the same service to Mrs Pace as we have done to all of the guests here. No more, no less. Has Mr Pace asked we refrain from disturbing his mother?”
He wanted to say, “Yes, now beat it!” But he couldn’t. Instead he shook his head.
Cavendish knocked on the door, waited a few seconds and then entered. Wilson and Donovan were right behind him.
“Please, feel free to join us.”
The room was larger than most hospital rooms Wilson had been in. It was at least double the size the one his mom had spent her last days in. Yet with eighteen people inside, it felt like a cell.
Cavendish took his place at the top of the bed, close to Frances Pace’s head. Wilson and Donovan stood facing him, on the other side. The Reverend’s suit was pristine, as was his hair. The Bible he clutched to his stomach looked brand new, as if it had never been opened.
