by E. C. Bell
When the cop left at nine, the ladies in white were getting everybody tucked in for the night. The occasional alarm sounded, but even those seemed sleepy. No-one got too excited, or did the “Code Blue” thing or anything. Just nice, efficient tucking in and putting to bed.
Until Carruthers, looking rich, powerful, and not about to take any crap, walked out of the elevators and up to the nurse’s station at close to 10:30.
“I’m here to see Marie Jenner.” His voice sounded like gravel, as though he’d smoked a couple dozen cigars in quick succession.
“It’s after visiting hours.” The nurse behind the desk didn’t glance up. “Come back tomorrow between nine and nine.”
“I don’t think you understand me. I am here to see Marie Jenner. Now.”
The nurse looked up, her eyes sparkling dangerously. I know she thought this was her domain and that she wasn’t about to be pushed around by an asshole in a suit, but I didn’t stick around to see what Carruthers did to her. I needed to warn Marie.
I walked into her room, but she was asleep. Before I could wake her up the door swung open, and Carruthers entered the darkened room.
Marie:
Meeting the Rat
It was harder to fall asleep in that hospital than I thought it would be. They kept my door open, so all the noise from the ward kept floating in. Cries of pain, alarms beeping, plus occasionally, laughter.
Finally, the noise outside the room started to calm. Someone pulled my door almost shut, and even that noise was tamped down to a drone. Then I was finally able to fall asleep.
It was a bit bumpy, to be honest. Meaning a series of nightmares filled with flashes and smoke, and then Don Latterson grabbing my throat, looking more and more like a demon, until I wanted to scream, and I couldn’t.
I couldn’t scream. The wire was back around my throat and I couldn’t scream . . .
I lurched awake, grabbing the top sheet that had tightened over my neck and flinging it away from me. I gasped in air like I’d actually been strangled again, and felt the pulse in my throat pound like a drum.
Farley was standing just inside the door, glowing softly. He put his finger to his mouth in a “shh,” gesture when someone else standing in the dark asked, “Are you all right?”
I did not recognize the voice and screeched as I tried to fling myself to the floor, only managing to get myself even more tangled in the bedclothes. I couldn’t move, and claustrophobia mixed with a resurgence of the terror I’d felt at the Palais. I honestly thought I was going to die. Again.
“Don’t hurt me!” I cried. “Please don’t hurt me!”
“I’m not here to hurt you,” the man’s voice said.
“You’re a liar, you son of a bitch,” Farley snarled. “A lying liar!”
“Who are you?” I asked, scrabbling with the stupid bedclothes which had me tied down so tightly I had another paralyzing moment of claustrophobia. “Who is that?” I asked Farley, but before he could answer, the stranger spoke.
“Let me turn on a light while you compose yourself, that’s a good girl,” he said. He walked toward the door and threw the light switch. “Is that better?”
A tall middle aged man in a power suit stood by the light switch. I didn’t recognize him, which did nothing to make me feel calmer.
“It’s George Carruthers,” Farley finally said. “He’s the son of a bitch who ordered Macho Don to blow up the Palais.” He spat. The glowing spittle flew through the air and struck George Carruthers on the cheek. It hung there, glowing and quivering, unnoticed.
“I’ll get help!” he yelled.
“Don’t leave me!” I cried.
“Don’t worry, I won’t,” Carruthers said as Farley disappeared through the closed door. I was alone with Carruthers. That was not good.
I groped in the bedclothes for the call button, and felt the air around me turn to glue when I couldn’t find the stupid thing. Carruthers walked up to my bed and I licked my lips. I needed to calm myself, because if he tried anything, I only had my wits. My strength was gone, blown away when the Palais exploded all over me.
If this guy was going to do me harm, I needed to get someone else—someone corporeal—in the room with us. Since I couldn’t find the stupid call button, I decided to play the “I don’t know you,” gambit, to buy some time.
“I think you have the wrong room,” I said.
“Oh no,” Carruthers said. “I’m in exactly the right room.”
“No, I don’t think you are,” I said, and tried to smile. That did not go well. “If you go out and find the nurse—”
“The nurse told me exactly where you were, Miss Jenner.”
As I tried to comprehend what he had just said, Carruthers pulled a chair up to the side of my bed and sat, crossing one leg over the other. He pointed at a bouquet of flowers on my bedside stand. “You like daisies?” he asked.
I quit staring at him, and instead stared at the bouquet, which had been placed in an empty water jug and leaned haphazardly. The flowers were wilting. There had been no flowers in my room when I’d fallen asleep.
“Why did you bring me flowers?” I asked.
“Oh, they aren’t from me,” he said.
I filed the flowers under “who cares right now” and focused on the man sitting way too close to me.
“Who are you?”
“George Carruthers,” he said, and smiled. “No doubt you’ve heard of me.”
“You’re the owner of the Palais,” I whispered. “How can I help you?”
“Oh, it’s not how you can help me,” Carruthers said. He glanced down at his beautifully manicured hands. “No, I’m here to find out how I can help you.”
I blinked. “Help me?”
“Yes, dear. Help you.” He stopped admiring his fingernails and glanced over at me. His eyes were like brown ice. “After all, you were one of my tenants, and—”
“I wasn’t technically a tenant,” I replied, still clutching the top of the sheet protectively to my throat. “I worked for one.”
“Ah, yes, well, that is true. However, I want to take care of everyone who was in my building. Especially one who was damaged.” Carruthers spoke the last word softly, delicately, and pointed at my face. “You were damaged, weren’t you?”
“Well, yes,” I said. “But I still don’t see—”
“You’re out of a job, and I’m going to make sure you’re comfortable until you can find another one.” Carruthers spoke abruptly, as if suddenly tired at the amount of his precious time our conversation was wasting.
“Comfortable?” What was he talking about?
“I’m going to look after you,” he said. His eyes thinned, and he glared at me.
“Look after me?” Oh God, that sounded bad. “What do you mean by that?”
“I’m going to take care of you.”
That sounded even worse. God, he was going to kill me right here.
I grappled under the blankets, looking for the stupid call button again even as I knew I wasn’t going to find it. Here he was, in my room, ready to kill me, and I was all on my own. Where were the nurses, and security, and the police? Why wasn’t anyone saving me?
“Are you all right?” he asked, and the tone of his voice stopped my frantic scramble under the bedclothes. He didn’t sound—or look—like he was about to pull a gun out and shoot me. He looked more confused than anything else, if I was going to be honest.
“You were hurt in my building, Miss Jenner,” he said. “Since you were the employee of a trusted tenant, you should be taken care of, until you’re back on your feet.”
“Oh.”
He wasn’t talking about killing me. He was talking about actually taking care of me. Then the “trusted tenant” reference sunk in, and I frowned.
“Are you talking about Mr. Latterson?” I asked. “He blew up the building. You know that, don’t you?”
Carruthers shuffled, looking uncomfortable.
“Yes, well, mistakes were made all t
he way around,” he finally replied. “Up to the point where he blew up the building, he was a good tenant. And you, my dear, are out of a job. I want to make things easier for you. Maybe give you a chance to—oh I don’t know, move back home, take care of your mother. She’d like that, wouldn’t she?”
My mind literally froze. “How do you know about my mother?” I finally asked, my lips feeling as icy as my brain.
“You’re not hard to track,” Carruthers said, smiling, his eyes still like brown ice. “It took five minutes to find your mother in Fort McMurray. She lives in a mobile home up there, does she not?”
I nodded stiffly. My God, he knew where my mother lived. What else did he know about her?
“$50,000.00 would make things much better for her, and for you,” Carruthers continued. “Wouldn’t it?”
He was bribing me, obviously. But why? What did he think I knew? Bigger question, what else did he know about my mother?
“Are you offering me money to move back home and look after her?” I asked.
“You don’t need to move back home,” Carruthers said. “You can go anywhere you want with the money. Anywhere. Personally, I don’t care if you look after your mother or not.” He shrugged. “You seem—attached to her. That’s why I even mentioned her. Understand?”
There was the not-so-veiled warning.
“Yes. I think I do.” I took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. “Can I think about it?”
“What is there to think about?” Carruthers said, a frown creasing his forehead. “I’m offering you free money. Take it and go anywhere you want that isn’t Edmonton.”
“I appreciate it, I really do, but —”
“But nothing, Miss Jenner. This is a take it or leave it proposition. You have to tell me right now.”
The door to my room swung open. The nurse from the front desk stormed in, followed by two security guards and Farley.
“The cavalry,” he said. He frowned. “Are you all right?”
Not even close, Farley.
“Ah, Nurse Penderghast,” Carruthers said. “Good to see you again.”
“I gave you your five minutes,” the nurse replied, acidly. “Now, it is time for you to go.”
She signaled to the security guards, who reached for Carruthers’ arms. He nonchalantly shrugged them off.
“We’re almost done here, aren’t we, Miss Jenner?” He smiled. “All I need it your answer.”
I stared at him. This guy believed, truly believed, that money could buy anything—or anybody. He’d paid people to do things—horrible things—and was now trying to pay me to keep my mouth shut about it.
If I turned down his bribe, he’d just use that money to have me—and possibly my mother—killed. His ice brown eyes let me know he’d have absolutely no problem with that.
“What is going on?” Farley asked. “The cavalry’s here. Kick him out.”
He knew where my mother lived.
“He had the Palais blown up,” Farley said. “And he’s the reason I’m dead. Don’t forget that.”
“Yes,” I whispered.
“Excellent,” Carruthers said. “Will a cheque suffice?”
“What?!?” Farley roared. “What are you doing?”
“Make it certified,” I said, wishing my head—and heart—would stop pounding so hard, and that Farley would quit screaming.
“Smart girl,” Carruthers said, his eyes cold, like a shark’s. “I’ll get a certified cheque to you, ASAP.”
“Thank you,” I said. “My mother will appreciate it.”
“I’m sure she will,” Carruthers said, dropping his business card on my bed. “Call me if you have any questions, or concerns. You know. Anything.”
Before I could answer him, he turned on his heel and walked through the door, the security guards wandering after him like they couldn’t remember why they’d been called to the room.
“What the fuck have you done?” Farley asked.
I ignored him, staring instead at the nurse. I had to take my fury out on someone, and it was going to be her.
“Why did you let him in?” I yelled. Well, I tried to yell. It sounded more like a sob.
“Sorry,” she said shortly. “He said he knew you.”
I could tell by the look on her face that she was lying. I felt sick. There was no safe place for me, anywhere.
“Just get out,” I whispered. “Get out.”
She backed away from the door, making apologetic noises, but I ignored her until the door finally sighed shut and I was left alone with Farley.
“Nice work.” The words sounded like acid dripping from Farley’s mouth. “You sold out.”
“I didn’t sell out,” I whispered. “He threatened my mother.”
“Bullshit,” he said. “You sold out.”
He wouldn’t look at me. Like he was afraid if he looked, he’d see greed on my face instead of fear. I had to make him understand.
“He threatened my mother,” I said again. “My dying mother.”
Farley snorted humorlessly. “Don’t play the death card with me, Marie. Remember, you’re talking to a ghost over here. I’m sorry your mother is dying, but—”
“I have to take care of her, Farley.” I stared straight ahead, and felt my throat tighten. Shit, not now. But the stupid tears cascaded down my face, and I sobbed.
“You can cry all you want,” Farley said, coldly. “You sold out. Son of a bitch.”
“Well, wouldn’t you?” I cried. “When you were alive, wouldn’t you have taken the money to save your daughter’s life?”
“Yeah, probably.”
I sniffed, and wiped my tears on the bed sheet. “Then you understand.”
“Don’t take his money, Marie. Run away if you want, but don’t take the money. He’s an evil son of a bitch, and the evil will stick to you.”
“If I don’t take it, he’ll think I’m going to turn him in,” I said. “I can’t not take it, Farley. Don’t you understand?”
He backed away from me until he was just a light smudge in front of my door.
“You have to figure something else out,” he said. “Or you’ll be like me. Make bad choices when you’re alive, and you’ll be trying to figure out a way to stay out of hell when you’re dead.”
Oh.
“I’ll try,” I whispered. “All right?”
He didn’t answer me. Just stared with his bright, unforgiving eyes until I finally turned my back on him, and pulled the covers over my head. I’d had enough. Enough.
Farley could go to hell, if that’s what he thought was going to happen to him. I wasn’t letting anyone hurt my mother. Not ever again.
Marie:
The Cop Comes Back, and I Am Sprung
Sergeant Worth was back first thing in the morning. She caught me picking at my breakfast, which I don’t think I could have eaten even if it had been anything close to edible.
Farley was camped out by the window, completely and absolutely ignoring me, which was more uncomfortable than you’d think. He didn’t turn when she came in. He didn’t even act like he realized she was in the room.
“Two things,” Worth said, before I had a chance to open my mouth. “First, that flash drive was not in your clothing.” She dropped a plastic bag on my bed. I thought I saw the sleeve of my grey sweater peeking out of the top. She’d found my clothes. “You must have dropped it, getting out of the building. We’re checking the debris. So far, nothing.”
“Oh.”
I pushed my tray away, suddenly feeling sick to my stomach. The flash drive. With it, Sergeant Worth would have proof that Carruthers was involved. Carruthers would think I turned him in, and come after me and my mother. But only if the police found it. They hadn’t yet. Maybe we were safe.
Farley turned and glared at me, his eerie, glowing eyes cutting through me. “You gonna tell her about Carruthers coming here?” he asked.
Sergeant Worth did not need to hear anything about my late night visitor. I turned away from h
im, and looked at the cop.
“What’s the other thing?” I asked.
“They’re letting you out of here soon,” she said. “So, I was wondering if you wanted me to give you a ride.”
“You?” I asked before I could stop myself. “Why?”
“Hey, just trying to do a good turn,” she said. “Unless you have an extra forty bucks to blow on a cab ride. Where are you going?”
“Home, I guess.” Then I remembered. My place was gone, burned up in a fire. “I don’t know.”
“If you want to talk to Victim Services, give them a call.” The Sergeant pulled a card from her pocket and handed it to me. “They’re pretty good. Unless you got a friend you can stay with?”
Where could I stay? There was Jasmine, with all her kids. She didn’t need me there. Maybe James—
“You want me to call James Lavall?”
I stared at her in shock as she flipped through her little booklet. Had I actually said his name out loud?
“You know his number?” she asked.
“No, but I’ve got it,” I said, automatically grabbing for my purse. Then I stopped. My purse had been blown to kingdom come. My God. I really had lost everything.
“My purse,” I said, inanely. “And my ID. Gone.”
Worth waved her hand dismissively. “Yeah, well, let’s get you settled first. You wanna go to James’ place, right?”
Before she gave me a chance to answer, she pulled out a cell phone and flipped it open, punching numbers.
“Yeah, Jules,” she said. “I’m over at the hospital talking to Marie Jenner, from the Palais explosion. Do me a favour, and get me James Lavall’s phone number. Yes. Lavall. Two a’s and three l’s. It’ll be in the file.”
“It’s really all right,” I said, frantically. I didn’t want to go to James’ place with her. I didn’t want to go anywhere with her. “I’ll give him a call—”
“No problem,” she said. “Got it.”
