by Ron Ripley
“Did they do your skin graft?” Courtney asked, sitting down beside him.
“No,” Shane answered.
A cold finger traced the line of his jaw. Softly she said, “I love you, Shane Ryan.”
Shane choked back a sob and managed to whisper, “I love you too.”
Chapter 20: Back at Sanford
Brett paced Doc’s room, nervous and afraid of the Nurse. There hadn’t been any more reports, no strange deaths after an unknown aide’s ‘epileptic fit’. The one which caused her to repeatedly slam the back of her head into the door and keep three adults from opening it.
“Brett,” Doc said. “Calm down, you’re making me anxious.”
Brett looked over at the younger man and frowned. “Sorry.”
He sat down in a chair and glanced at the empty bed.
“You need to relax,” Doc said. “At least a little bit.”
“It’s difficult for me,” Brett said. “There’s a murderous ghost on the loose in the hospital.”
“And evidently, she’s been here for a while,” Doc countered.
Brett nodded and rubbed his temples. “I know we’ve always had deaths on E Ward. It’s expected. But why downstairs? Why Matias?”
“He’s old,” Doc said. “Maybe she thinks it’s time?”
“And the young woman? The aide?”
Doc shook his head. “She got in the way? I don’t know, Brett. I really don’t. But you pacing back and forth isn’t going to solve anything. Anyway, have you gotten any word from Shane?”
“Yeah,” Brett said, easing back into the chair. “He said he had something to help keep her at bay. Should be back tomorrow with it.”
“Good.”
Silence arose between the two men. After several minutes, Doc said, “How the hell does someone get involved with ghosts?”
“I have no idea, but he seems to know what he’s talking about.”
“Yeah,” Doc said, grinning. “I was thinking about that earlier. Guy was a career Marine, usually not your ghostly type.”
“No,” Brett agreed. “Then again, I haven’t had a whole lot of experience with ghosts. You?”
“Not really,” Doc said. “Thought there was a ghost in my house as a kid, but who knows, you know?”
“Yes,” Brett said, sighing. He stood up. “Alright, I’ve got to do my rounds, make sure everyone’s okay. Karen’s almost asleep at the desk.”
“Sure thing,” Doc said, lying back on his bed. “I’ll be here. Writing my movie.”
Brett paused and looked over at Doc. “Your movie?”
“Yeah,” Doc said, smiling. “A bio pic. My exciting life. Lots of action, car chases, gun fights, beautiful models. You know. The normal American experience.”
“Am I in it?” Brett asked.
“Everyone’s in it.”
“Who’s going to play you?” Brett asked.
“Ryan Reynolds.”
“And who’s going to play me?” Brett said.
“Samuel L. Jackson,” Doc said, snickering.
Brett laughed. “But I’m white.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Doc said, putting his hands behind his head and looking up at the ceiling. “It’s a requirement. Every movie has to have Samuel L. Jackson in it, and he’s playing you.”
“You’re out of your mind, Doc,” Brett said, shaking his head.
“Only all of the time,” Doc said. “Talk to you soon.”
Brett waved goodbye and left the dying man behind. The hallway was filled with the noise of machines, respirators, and monitors. He walked to the nurse’s station and found Karen asleep. Her head lolled to one side, she snorted, and a thin line of drool spilled out one of the corners of her mouth.
How do you keep your job, Karen? he thought. Brett wanted to walk around the back of the desk and push her onto the floor, and then ask her if she was okay, but he didn’t.
An uncomfortable sensation tickled the back of his neck. Brett slapped at it, but it happened again, and he turned around.
His heart skipped a beat before it began to hammer against his chest.
A tall man, cadaver-like in appearance, stood by the elevator door. The man was naked, his pale flesh covered in liver spots. Thin wisps of white hair clung to his head. Equally sparse hair hung from his cheeks and chin. His nose was long, almost dagger-like, the eyes close-set on either side of it. They were gray and cold and lifeless.
Brett could see the elevator door through him.
The tall man’s long fingers twitched along the sides of his bare thighs, each hand looking like an anxious spider.
Brett gulped.
The man stared at Brett and whispered in a low, raspy voice, “Name.”
Brett shook his head.
“Name.”
“Brett.”
“Jacob.”
Jacob’s head twitched, his upper lip curled into a sneer. Nearly black teeth were revealed, terrible incisors that reminded Brett of the horror movies he had watched as a teenager.
“Brett,” Jacob said.
“Yes?”
“Leave the Nurse alone,” Jacob said, and there was a deadly tone in his gritty voice. “She has a task to carry out. As do we all. I will make you my task if you do not allow her to do hers. Am I understood, Brett?”
Brett nodded.
“Good.” Jacob looked past Brett at Karen. “Wake her up. Before I kill her. I hate sloth.”
“Alright,” Brett whispered.
Jacob nodded, turned, and stepped through the elevator door.
Brett’s body trembled and he stood in place for a moment.
What’s going on? he finally asked himself. How many ghosts are there? What am I going to do?
Then Brett remembered Jacob’s threat. Still trembling, Brett hurried around the desk to wake Karen up.
Chapter 21: A Struggle Within
Francis sat on his narrow bunk in his room at the residence. He held his rosary in his hands, the feel of the wood comforting. His thumb traced the familiar image of Christ on the crucifix.
He had prayed for nearly two days, attempting to come to a conclusion as to what had to be done. When he had first returned from Sanford Hospital, he had gone immediately to the Abbot. They had spoken for hours about what Francis had seen, and what it meant to the patients at the facility.
The Abbot believed it was Francis’ decision when it came to the ghost. If he was to defend the sick and wounded from the dead nurse, or to let her do what she willed.
Francis’ initial reaction had been to fight. It was what he did best. Yet he had continued to pray on the issue. Was that a battle God wanted?
A single memory from his first deployment in Afghanistan leapt forward in his mind. Francis recalled a house with an old man in it, a tired and sick Afghani who the local Mujahedeen had come to kill.
Francis and his team had stayed with the man and fought off the Mujahedeen. The Afghani had died in his sleep during the firefight.
Their lives must run their course, Francis thought. She does not decide. Only God can, and God has put me in her way.
Francis stood up and slipped his rosary into his pocket. He needed to eat, and then speak with the Abbot about taking time off to return to Sanford Hospital and battle the Nurse.
It will be good to fight again, he thought.
Chapter 22: On the Stairs
Ian Hays had been an orderly at various Veteran hospitals for over twenty years. He knew the routines, and he liked them. Ian kept his mouth shut, did his job, and went home. He never complained, paid his Union dues, and made sure he made it to at least one Red Sox game in the spring, one Patriots game in the fall, and one Bruins game in the winter.
Ian stifled a yawn, walked up the back stairs towards B Ward and resisted the urge to slip into an empty bed and sleep. He had picked up a shift for another orderly, and while the additional hours were nice, Ian knew he was going to suffer for it in the morning.
He turned the corner of a landing and shivered.<
br />
Seriously? he thought. Who the hell put the air-conditioning on?
Ian continued up, and the cold increased. Finally, he stopped on the landing in front of B Ward and looked around.
This is terrible, he thought. Cold like this is going to drift out into the wards and chill the folks.
The door to the ward opened and Ian glanced over to see who it was.
When he did, his breath caught in his throat.
The Nurse stood in front of him. Her expression was full of malice, her shoulders hunched.
“What are you doing?” she demanded.
Ian’s thoughts raced. He had heard of others bumping into her, and he tried to remember how they had gotten away from her.
Honesty, Ian thought. I’ll be honest.
“It’s cold in here,” Ian said. “I’m trying to see what’s wrong. I don’t want the patients to be cold.”
“But I do,” she remarked.
Ian blinked, shook his head and said, “I’m sorry, what?”
“I want them to be cold.” She took a step forward. “Too many haven’t been listening.”
“Oh,” Ian said, stepping back. He put his hand out and grasped the railing.
“I don’t like it when people interfere,” the Nurse continued. Her eyes narrowed. “I don’t like it at all.”
Ian became aware of the stillness in the stairwell. A curious silence washed over them.
“No one should ever interfere with me,” she whispered. The Nurse stepped forward, placed her hands upon his chest, and pushed.
Her strength was incredible, and Ian found himself falling. His sneakers lost their grip on the old, green tile, and for a moment Ian felt like an Olympic diver as he hung in the air.
Then he smashed into the stairs, tumbling down and yelling out. Ian hit the landing, rolled and smashed into the old electric radiator against the wall. He struggled to regain control over his feet, but the Nurse was there.
Painfully cold hands gripped him, lifted him up until he was above her head, and she hurled him down the next flight. Everything slowed down, as though someone had suddenly hit the half-speed button on a DVD player.
Minutes, it seemed, passed as he hung in the air, and then the floor rushed up to meet him.
Chapter 23: Shane Prepares for the Nurse
“Where are you going?” Carl asked in German.
Shane looked up from the desk in the library. The ghost stood by the door with an inquisitive expression.
“Back to the veteran’s hospital in Sanford,” Shane explained, also in German.
“What’s going on there?”
“There’s a ghost who seems to think she decides when it’s time for a patient to die,” Shane replied. He looked down at the items before him. A pump-action shotgun and twenty shells, loaded with rock-salt, the iron knuckledusters, several boxes of salt, lighter fluid, matches, a lighter, and a bag of steel wool. “Everything but a Bible,” Shane murmured.
“What was that, my young friend?” Carl asked, moving further into the room.
“Nothing,” Shane said. He collapsed into the desk chair. From a pocket, he took out his cigarettes and lit one. “This one is going to be difficult, I think.”
“How so?” Carl said.
“She’s decided she knows best,” Shane said, exhaling the smoke through his nostrils. “And, from what I can figure, there are those who agree with her. Both the living and the dead, it’s the only way she’s been able to operate so freely for such a long time. If that’s the case, then it means I may be facing more than this nurse.”
“Will you have assistance?”
“I hope so,” Shane said. “There’s Brett on E Ward, the floor she likes to roam around on. Plus there’s Doc, a combat vet who’s dying of God knows what. He’s set. I think there may be one or two more. If we can work together and get it done, yeah, it’ll be okay.”
“And if not?” Carl asked.
“Then all of this,” Shane said, gesturing to the material on the desk, “well, it may be enough to get me out of the building and into the car. Then again, it may not. I’ll find out when I try.”
Carl nodded. “Have you told the others?”
“What others?” Shane asked, confused. “The people at Sanford?”
“No,” Carl said. “The rest of us here. Have you informed them of your intentions? Have you let them know you may not be returning from this excursion?”
Shane shook his head.
“If I may ask, my friend, but why?” Carl asked.
“Why would I?” Shane said. He looked at the shotgun. “I either make it back or I don’t, Carl. No need to worry anyone.”
“Let us worry, my friend,” Carl pleaded. “We are your family, are we not?”
“Yeah,” Shane whispered. He picked up the weapon, double checked the loads were in and said again, “Yeah.”
Chapter 24: Talking about Ruth
“How are you doing?” Nancy asked.
Matias looked at the younger woman and smiled. “I’m doing well, considering how old I am.”
She frowned. “I meant with what happened to the aide.”
“I know what you meant,” Matias said gently. “It was a sad sight, and I am sorry she died in such a way.”
“That’s it?” Nancy asked, shock in her voice.
Matias nodded and said, “Is there something more you would like me to express?”
She shook her head. “I don’t understand.”
“Don’t try to,” Matias said. “Let it be.”
Nancy hesitated, then said, “No. No, I can’t let it be. Matias, how can you be so cold?”
“I’m a killer, Nurse Platte,” he said softly. “I may be old, but I am still a killer. If I could have stopped the death, I would have.”
“Regardless, you couldn’t have stopped her seizure,” Nancy said. She took a sip of her coffee, the Styrofoam container shaking in her hand.
“It wasn’t a seizure,” Matias said.
“Of course, it was,” Nancy said. “What else could it be?”
“You’re asking the wrong question,” Matias said. “It is not a question of what, but of who.”
“You’re saying she was murdered?” Nancy asked, dumbfounded. “By who? You? There was no one else in the room, and you certainly don’t have the strength to do the damage she did to herself.”
“The Nurse did it.”
Nancy scoffed. “I’ve told you before, Matias, there’s no such thing as a killer nurse roaming the hallowed halls of Sanford.”
“Is it really so difficult for you to accept?” Matias asked, his own voice rising. “Do you think such an entity could not exist?”
“I don’t know,” Nancy snapped. “But I highly doubt a ghost could kill someone, Matias. It’s absurd.”
“Perhaps,” Matias said. “But I will tell you this, Nancy. Last night was not the first time I have seen the Nurse. I pray it is the last, mind you, although I doubt it. She will inevitably be the death of me.”
Nancy put her coffee down on the table, stood up and walked to the new door. She looked at it for a moment before she turned around and faced him. “Mark in maintenance told me they asked if you wanted a different room. You refused.”
“I did,” Matias agreed.
“Why?” she demanded.
“This was my room before, and for an exceptionally long time,” Matias said. “Why would I move because of death?”
“But it was a terrible death,” Nancy said in an imploring tone.
“Do you know so little about me?” he asked.
She frowned, a look of confusion flickering across her face. “What do you mean?”
“Have you ever looked at my file?” Matias said.
Nancy shook her head.
“What war do you think I fought in?”
“World War 2,” she said. “You’re the right age for it.”
“You’re correct,” Matias said. “I also fought in the Korean War.”
“Alright,
” she said. “You fought in two wars.”
“And Vietnam.”
Nancy hesitated and then said, “Three?”
He nodded.
“Why?” she asked though she feared she already knew the answer.
“Because I liked it,” Matias said. “Because, quite frankly, I was good at it.”
“What?” she asked.
“Haven’t you ever wondered what I did?” Matias said.
“No,” she said, shaking her head. “Why would I?”
“Perhaps you should have.”
“Matias,” Nancy said. “Lots of men feel guilt over their roles. It doesn’t mean they did anything.”
“Nancy,” Matias cut in. “I did something. Lots of somethings. I killed men with my bare hands. I killed them with knives. I shot them. Garroted them. Blew them up. And I drowned them.”
Nancy looked at him, horror growing in her eyes.
“I killed them when I was a teenager, as a man in my twenties, thirties, and forties,” Matias continued. “I butchered them in their sleep, then I went home and raised a family. Baseball? Wonderful. Taking out a guard by puncturing his lungs? Fantastic. Are you beginning to understand?”
“Yes,” she whispered.
“As you can see,” Matias said, “I had an extremely marketable skill set. I happened to remain with the Army for the entire time. Don’t believe that I did it for love of country. First, it was the thrill of fighting, then it became an addiction. A need. Had I not been injured so severely in Vietnam, I would have done as much time there as possible.”
A long silence filled the room and the horrified look on Nancy’s face saddened him.
“You really don’t care?” she said softly.
“It’s not that I don’t care,” Matias corrected. “It doesn’t bother me. The manner of her death depresses me. But it doesn’t bother me.”
Slowly Nancy walked back to the chair, sat down and picked up her coffee. She brought the cup up to her mouth, and then, without taking a drink, lowered it. Nancy looked hard into Matias’s eyes.
“You’re telling me the truth about the Nurse?”
