by Ron Ripley
“We’ll have you better in no time,” Jack assured him. “Go on upstairs. Rest. I’ll be along shortly.”
Matias could only nod in reply.
In a short time, Don had wheeled him from A Ward to E Ward and brought him into Room 8. A terribly old man lay asleep on one of the two beds, and the room was lit with the afternoon light. Don pushed the wheelchair directly to the unoccupied bed. Matias got onto the bed and took a deep breath.
“Are you alright, sir?” Don asked.
Matias nodded. “Well, enough. Thank you.”
“Do you need a nurse to help you get into your bedclothes?” the orderly asked.
“No,” Matias said, shaking his head. “Thank you, but no.”
“Alright, sir,” Don said, and he put the wheelchair in a corner before he left the room, closing the door behind him.
Matias carefully bent over, untied his shoes and left them under the bed. With equal caution, he brought his legs up onto the mattress, made himself as comfortable as possible, and looked over at his companion.
Each breath was a wheeze for the old man, the tell-tale rattle in his chest a sound Matias had heard all too often.
He’s dying, Matias thought. Maybe not tonight. But definitely tomorrow. How old is he? Damn, he looks old enough to have ridden with Roosevelt and the Rough Riders.
Turning his attention away from the old man, Matias looked around for something to occupy his attention. There was a deck of cards on the table between the pair of beds. Beside the table was a folded lap desk. Matias reached over, grabbed the cards and the desk. He dealt out a hand of solitaire and began looking for a home for the three of clubs.
The door swung open.
Matias looked up, saw a nurse, and frowned. I told him I didn’t need help.
The thought died as Matias realized he could see through the woman. She seemed to be more of an afterthought. An idea of a woman, or a memory of one. Her uniform was old; antiquated.
She smiled pleasantly at him as she passed by, a wave of cold air preceding her.
Matias shuddered, the hackles on his neck standing up and the pain in his hip increasing exponentially.
She made her way directly to the old man in the other bed. As she neared him, Matias’s roommate gasped and turned slowly in his bed. When she came to a stop beside the bed, the man’s back was to her.
Matias’ horror grew as he watched her reach out with both hands, placing them in the center of the old man’s back. A heartbeat later, she pushed her fingers further into the man’s flesh, and soon she was wrist deep in his elderly form.
The old man gasped, shivered, and the death rattle stopped.
For several minutes longer, she remained where she was, her hands still hidden within him.
Matias stayed where he was, fear gripping him.
Finally, she withdrew herself and turned around. Once again she smiled at Matias, pausing for a moment at the end of his bed.
“Craig is feeling much better now,” she said sweetly. “Much better. I’ll come by later and check on you as well.”
Matias remained perfectly still as he watched her leave the room and thought, I hope not.
Chapter 14: A Visitor
The elevators had been fixed, and Shane had been moved from E Ward down to A Ward.
At six o’clock in the morning, he woke up, sweating profusely and panting from the nightmares. Even after all that he had been through, the terrors of his childhood remained with him; plagued him every night.
He sat up in the hospital bed, jonesing for a cigarette and a shot of whiskey. Shane got up quietly, conscious of the man sleeping in the other bed, and went into the bathroom. He washed up quickly, pulled a fresh pair of issue pajamas on, and slipped his feet into his sneakers. When he left the room, he nodded to the nurse on duty and got the ‘okay’ from the old Marine security guard to go outside for a smoke and a nip.
As soon as the doors closed behind him, Shane took out his cigarettes and lit one up. He smiled at the taste of tobacco and made his way down the stairs to the back lot. In a few minutes, he was enjoying the pleasant burn of whiskey and wondering how much longer he was going to have to stay at Sanford.
“Shane!”
Shane looked and saw Doc Kiernan. The dying medic hobbled toward him, leaning heavily on a cane.
“Hey, Doc,” Shane said. “Want a drink?”
“You have whiskey in your car?” Doc asked, laughing.
“You don’t?” Shane responded, winking.
“Hell, I don’t even have a car,” Doc said. He leaned against the side of a pickup parked next to Shane’s vehicle. With a nod of thanks, he accepted the bottle from Shane, gave the mouth of the whiskey a cursory wipe, and then took a long drink. He coughed, shook his head and held the bottle back out to Shane.
Chuckling, Shane took it back. “What are you doing out here?”
“My morning walk,” Doc said, wiping tears from the corners of his eyes. “Or, rather, my morning shuffle.”
“Bad?” Shane asked.
“Bad,” Doc confirmed. “You know, I was in some hot places. First battle of Fallujah, went in with the Marines. Hajii threw a lot of lead at us.”
“He had a habit of doing that,” Shane said.
“Yeah,” Doc said. “It’s why I didn’t think I’d die at thirty from something as stupid as a burn pit.”
Shane nodded. “Couple of guys I served with, they’re sick. Down in Bethesda, getting tested. How come you’re not there?”
“Sanford is fine with me,” Doc said, accepting the bottle as Shane handed it to him. The man paused, took a drink and passed it back. “There’s no cure for what I have. They can’t even figure out what’s going on with me, other than I’m dying. So, why let them run tests? My family’s up here. They can visit a hell of a lot easier than traveling down to Maryland.”
“True enough,” Shane said. He sipped at the whiskey. “How long have you been here?”
“About a year now,” Doc said. He hesitated, then asked, “Do you remember what you said to me when you hit your head?”
“Yeah,” Shane said. “I saw a ghost.”
Doc looked at him carefully. “You’re sure?”
Shane smiled. “I’m sure.”
“I’ve seen her, too,” Doc said shortly. “I didn't tell you earlier because I wasn't sure how well you’d handle it. You had a concussion and were definitely suffering from some trauma.”
Doc smiled wanly. “I talked with Brett last night. He thinks she may have had something to do with Dr. Georges death, too.”
“What?” Shane asked. “Dr. Georges?”
“Yes,” Doc said. “You didn’t hear about him?”
Shane shook his head, and Doc quickly filled him in on the doctor’s death.
“They think it was an aneurysm from drinking?” Shane asked when Doc had finished.
Doc nodded. “They won’t do an autopsy or anything. They found him in his office when he didn’t show up for an appointment. The light was broken, vomit in his mouth. Looks like he choked on it.”
Shane snorted and shook his head. “Guess I lucked out.”
“How do you figure?” Doc asked, surprised.
“He was supposed to work on me today,” Shane said. “Word was he had a problem with his alcohol.”
Doc looked at the whiskey bottle in Shane’s hand.
“I don’t have a problem,” Shane said. Then he grinned, “Besides, I’m not operating on anyone.”
He took a last drink, capped the bottle and put it away. After he locked the car up Shane got out a fresh cigarette and glanced at Doc. “Will this bother you?”
Doc shook his head. “Light up. Those’ll kill you eventually.”
“If I’m lucky enough to live that long,” Shane muttered.
“What?” Doc asked as they began the walk back to the building.
“Nothing. Nothing,” Shane said. “I’m running my mouth. Anyway, why do you think the Nurse killed Dr. Georges?”
“But she’s only been seen up on E Ward?” Shane asked.
“Yup,” Doc said. “She’s kind of like an open secret, you know? Some of the staff know about her, but they won’t talk about her. They say it brings the morale of the patients down.”
“So I’ve heard,” Shane said.
Doc glanced at him, but when Shane didn’t offer up anymore, he continued on. “Anyway, some of the patients have seen her. They don’t like to talk about her. You know, kind of like, ‘Speak of the Devil and the Devil appears.'”
“Yeah,” Shane said. “I understand. My question is, has anyone ever tried to stop her?”
“What do you mean?” Doc asked. “Like an exorcism or something? Some of that new-age hippy crap about telling the Nurse she’s dead and needs to go towards the light?”
Shane laughed. “No, nothing like that. I mean, bound her to something, or found where she’s buried then salt and burn her bones.”
“Jesus Christ,” Doc said, shock on his face and in his voice. “Sounds a little barbaric, man.”
Shane shrugged. “Whatever gets the job done.”
They started up the handicapped ramp toward the back door.
“Guess I don’t have any doubts now,” Doc said as they reached the automatic opener.
“Doubts about what?” Shane asked, opening the door for Doc.
“About you being a Marine,” Doc replied, grinning. “Only a Marine would be okay with digging up a body, dumping salt on it and lighting it up like a barbecue.”
Shane’s laughter echoed through the hall as they entered the hospital.
Chapter 15: What Dreams May Come
Shane woke up in his bed.
Not a hospital bed.
His bed.
He looked around the bedroom, a wave of confusion threatening to overwhelm him.
This isn’t right, Shane thought. It’s too big.
Everything was oversized. The dresser was too tall, the door was too big. Even his bed was gigantic. He threw the blankets off, looked down at his legs and stopped.
His legs were small. Small and covered with fine, light brown hair.
Cautiously he held up his hands and saw they were proportionate to his legs, and there was a fresh scab on the back of his left index finger. He had cut it when reaching into a grate for one of his action figures.
When he was twelve.
I am not twelve, Shane thought, forcing himself to get up. The wood floor was cold beneath his feet. He looked around the room at his Star Wars toys, his GI Joe action figures, and a stack of comic books. I am not twelve.
“Hello.”
Shane looked up and saw the Nurse.
She stood in his room, in front of his door.
“Hello,” Shane answered, and his voice was that of a twelve-year-old. “Why are you in my room?”
“I’ve come to check on you,” Ruth said. She took a step further into the room. “You are my patient.”
Shane glanced around, trying to see something he could defend himself with.
There was nothing.
“I appreciate your concern,” Shane said, “but I’m really okay.”
“I think perhaps I am the better judge of your medical condition,” she said in a patronizing tone.
“You need to stay away from me,” Shane said, putting as much force into his young voice as possible.
Ruth paused, wagged a finger at him and said, “You will have to take a more respectful tone with me, young man, or else I’ll make sure they withhold your dessert.”
Fear began to eat at Shane. Desperation filled him as she started to walk towards him again. A hypodermic needle appeared in one of her hands while a glass vial was suddenly visible in the other.
“You need to take your medicine,” she said, stopping at the side of his bed. Ruth inserted the needle into the vial, drew a dark, foul substance into the instrument, and smiled at him. “It will only hurt for a moment.”
“No!” Shane yelled. He twisted on his bed and launched himself off it towards the windows. Behind him, Ruth commanded him to stop. He leapt without looking back.
***
Shane swore as he hit the tile of the hospital room floor. With his chest aching, he turned and saw the Nurse standing beside his bed. A mixed expression of anger and disappointment was on her face.
The door to the room swung open, and she vanished.
Brett hurried into the room, followed by Doc Kiernan.
Shane managed to get to his feet by the time they reached him.
“Are you alright?” Brett asked.
“Fine, now that she’s gone,” Shane said.
“Who?” Doc asked. “The Nurse?”
Shane nodded.
“Why was she in here?” Brett said.
“To give me my medicine,” Shane said bitterly. He sat down on his bed. “In my dream, no less.”
When the two men looked at him in confusion, Shane told them what had happened.
“But why did she target you?” Brett asked. “No offense, but other than Dr. Georges, everyone else who’s died was old or dying.”
“Evidently, I’m special,” Shane said.
“Or else she’s killing more than we know of,” Doc said in a low voice.
Shane and Brett looked at him.
“Honestly,” Doc said. “Think about it. What do we know about her, other than that she’s said to wander around E Ward offing those already on death row? What if that’s not true? What if she’s just kept herself busy for however many years? What if she kills whoever she thinks needs killing?”
Shane sighed. “What a terrible idea.”
Brett nodded his agreement.
“I didn’t say I liked the idea,” Doc said. “I was only throwing it out there.”
“You may be onto something,” Brett said. “I’ll have to look into it. See how many fatalities there were over, say, the past year.”
“Go back farther,” Shane said.
The men looked at him.
“Farther,” Shane repeated. “Her uniform is about a hundred years old. Means she was here, or nearby, around the end of the First World War. Possibly during the Influenza Epidemic right after the war. I don’t know if there are records going that far back, but look into it, Brett, if you can. I won’t be out of here for at least another day or two. Longer if they don’t find someone to do the skin graft.”
“You should be out by tomorrow,” Brett said.
“Good,” Shane said, unable to keep the relief out of his voice.
“Going to leave us to our fate?” Doc asked.
Shane shook his head. “Hell no. I’ve got some stuff at home I’ll bring back. Maybe even find a friend or two who might be able to help. If I’m lucky. If not, well, then I’ll bring enough material to make sure the Nurse doesn’t come back anymore.”
“Like what?” Brett asked.
Shane gave them a hard, small smile. “Gasoline and a good supply of matches.”
Chapter 16: The Order of St. Benedict
Dom Francis Benedict felt physically ill when he looked at the Sanford Hospital.
This place is bad, he thought, examining every aspect of the building with a critical eye. This place is downright terrible.
A small part of him urged retreat, a return to the car and a quick trip back to the college. But only a small part.
I place my life in your hands, Oh Lord, Francis thought, and he walked to the front of the hospital. When he entered the building there was a terrible chill to the air, a foul scent hiding behind the normal smells of a hospital. He paused in front of the main desk and a young woman looked up from her phone. It took her a moment to realize he was a religious man, and when she did, she hastily put her phone down.
She smiled nervously and said, “Good morning, Father.”
&nb
sp; “Good morning,” Francis said, smiling. “But it’s Dom Francis, or Brother if that’s easier. And don’t worry, this isn’t Catholic school. You’re not in trouble for looking at your phone.”
The young woman blushed. “That obvious?”
Francis grinned and nodded. “I’m here to visit with some of the residents. I usually start with the oldest, if they have a desire to speak with me.”
“Hm,” she said. “That would definitely be Matias Geisel, but he’s not Catholic. I think he’s Lutheran.”
“I’m not here to convert,” Francis said gently.
“Oh, okay,” the young woman said. “Well, he usually has visitors, but he may want some more company. He’s in Room 20, A Ward. Just go up the stairs, through the double doors and take a right. Matias is in the last room on the left.”
“Thank you very much,” Francis said. “I didn’t get your name.”
“Sarah,” she said. “Sarah Hall, Brother.”
“A pleasure, Sarah,” Francis said. He waved goodbye and followed her directions. The hallway leading to Matias Geisel’s room was filled with myriad sounds, a veritable cacophony. People talking, televisions playing, announcements over the speaker system. A couple in another room were arguing, and Francis had to focus on the reason he had come to Sanford.
He knocked on the door.
“Come in!” a voice called out.
Francis did so, and he found an extremely old man sitting alone in an easy chair. Framed photographs lined the walls, covered his bureau, and gave a brief glimpse into the vast family Matias Geisel enjoyed.
Matias had a rollaway table in front of him, a half-finished game of solitaire dealt out. He had a fresh cup of coffee and a piece of toast as well, and he looked pleasantly surprised at Francis.
“I have to say,” Matias said with a grin, “this isn’t something I expected when I awoke this morning.”
“I’m glad,” Francis said. He walked closer, shook Matias’ hand and introduced himself.
“Have a seat, Dom Francis,” Matias said, gesturing towards the room’s other chair.
“Thank you,” he said as he sat down. “I’m here to visit and to talk.”
“Me in particular?” Matias asked with a raised eyebrow.
