Sanford Hospital (Berkley Street Series Book 4)

by Ron Ripley

  Matias sighed, turned his attention away from the memories and looked at the lamp. Raphael, one of the orderlies, had been kind enough to clean up the mess and replace the bulb. The curious Benedictine monk, Dom Francis, had stayed for some time, and Matias had explained what he knew about the Nurse.

  Francis had listened intently, absorbing all of the information. When Matias had finished, Francis had thanked him and left, saying he would return soon.

  Matias had no other visitors for the day, which wasn’t unusual. His grandchildren and great-grandchildren were active in various athletic events, and so his children were busy with them.

  Matias smiled and wondered what videos they would bring to him.

  He shivered suddenly, and he realized the room had gotten colder. The light flickered, and Matias turned it off. He was left in near total darkness, only a faint bar of illumination slipping in between the door and the floor.

  Something passed through the light, a faint shadow.

  “Hello, Mr. Geisel,” the Nurse said.

  “Good evening, Nurse,” Matias said. His voice reflected his fatigue. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

  “I’ve come to tell you that I’ll be administering your medicine soon,” she said. “I wanted to be certain you knew.”

  “I don’t particularly want any medicine,” Matias said. “In fact, I’m fairly positive I don’t need any.”

  “Mr. Geisel,” she scolded, “you will take your medicine, as per my orders.”

  “I thank you for your concern, Nurse,” Matias said, mustering as much authority as possible, and applying it to his tone. “But I will decide my own course of treatment.”

  Before she could reply, the door opened and light filled the room. Matias turned his head away and closed his eyes. He heard the click of the switch and the overhead fluorescents flickered to life.

  “Oh Jesus,” someone whispered, and Matias opened his eyes.

  He looked through the Nurse and saw a young woman, one of the new third shift nurses, standing in the doorway. Her eyes were wide with surprise, her jaw open.

  “Who are you?” the new woman asked, fear in her voice. “What are you doing in here?”

  The Nurse turned to face her and said in a harsh voice, “Mr. Geisel is my patient. You will do well to leave the room and leave his care to me.”

  The young woman shook her head, and although Matias could hear a tremor of panic in her voice, she said, “You need to leave.”

  “It’s alright,” Matias said hurriedly. “Leave the room, please.”

  “No,” the new nurse said, strength replacing the panic. “No. Nurse, you are not on duty on this floor. You have no authority or control over Mr. Geisel’s treatment. You need to leave now.”

  “I am tired of people questioning my treatments,” the Nurse snarled. “Leave. Now!”

  “No,” the young woman said. “You will not treat Mr. Geisel.”

  “How dare you!” the Nurse Spat, enraged at the challenge. “How dare you! I know what is best for my patients!”

  “No,” the new nurse stuttered. “No.”

  The temperature in the room plummeted.

  “No one,” the Nurse hissed, “interferes with me. No one denies me!”

  The ghost became a blur of motion. In less than a heartbeat, she crossed the distance between her and the young woman, and she smashed into the living nurse as the door slammed shut. The new nurse was hurled into the wood, her head smacking obscenely against it.

  She groaned as she sank down to the floor, a small smear of blood trailing down the door.

  Matias grabbed the panic button and jammed his finger into it.

  The Nurse leaned over her, grabbed the woman by her throat and lifted her up. The young woman’s eyes rolled in her head as spit gathered in the corners of her mouth. Someone tried to open the door but it wouldn’t budge. They pounded against it.

  The Nurse slammed the young woman into the door repeatedly in reply. Soon, she was limp in the Nurse’s hands. The door shuddered, both from the blows outside the room and within it.

  Fragments of bone became embedded in the wood and long strands of the young woman’s black hair were caught there as well. The whites of her eyes were distinctly visible between her half-closed lids. Her pink scrubs became stained with her blood and at some point, she had lost control of her bladder. Her legs twitched, her feet went into spasms, and her fingers danced about madly as if she were frantically typing out a letter.

  Slowly Matias heard the people on the other side of the door as they yelled to him and to the newly dead nurse. Matias tried to answer, but his voice refused to obey him.

  Finally, the Nurse dropped the young woman’s body to the floor and turned to face him once more.

  The look on her face was cold and hard. She smoothed out her uniform, looked at him and said, “Mr. Geisel, I am the only nurse in charge of your care. I know what you need, and I shall administer it. All others will be warned, and then punished accordingly.”

  The Nurse vanished, and the door was thrust open and struck the woman’s body. It was pushed across the floor, smearing blood on the linoleum.

  Chapter 19: Home Again

  Shane had found betony at the shop off of Main Street in Nashua. The herb, which he had bought in bulk, smelled like black tea.

  It could smell like manure, Shane thought as he got out of the car with the bag in hand, as long as it does the trick.

  He went up the stairs and into his house, closing the door behind him. Shane looked around the hallway and came to a stop. “Hello!”

  A second later, Eloise appeared from a dark corner. The dead girl smiled and waved at him. Shane returned the wave and approached the ghost.

  “Where is everyone?” he asked, sinking into a squat to speak with her.

  Eloise shrugged. “I was playing hide and seek with Thaddeus, but I was the one who was hiding.”

  “Do you know why Thaddeus left?”

  “Yes,” Eloise said, her voice, dropping to a whisper. “Courtney and Carl are fighting.”

  Shane frowned. “Where?”

  “Your bedroom. She doesn’t want him in your room.”

  “Great,” Shane said, sighing. “Just what I need.”

  He got to his feet and went up the main staircase to the second floor. As he approached the door to his room, the air became painfully cold, hurting his lungs with each breath.

  Damn it, he thought. The doorknob was nearly frozen as he grabbed and twisted it, shoving the door open. Shane shivered as he stepped into the room, the muscles in his jaw tightening.

  Carl and Courtney stood a few feet into the room, their forms pulsing with energy. Courtney’s body reflected her death, her neck with a curious crick in it.

  Carl stood thin and tall, and he and Courtney glared at one another.

  “Enough!” Shane snapped. “You’ve made my bedroom a god damned freezer!”

  The two ghosts looked at him, shame and surprise on their faces.

  “I don’t want to know why you’re fighting,” Shane said, holding up a hand. “I really don’t care. Carl, I’ve asked you not to enter the room when I’m not in it. I’ll meet you in the study shortly, please.”

  Carl hesitated for a moment, and then gave a short bow before he vanished.

  The temperature in the room warmed noticeably.

  Courtney looked at him and his heart ached at the sight of her.

  She smiled. “How are you?”

  “Tired,” Shane replied. He put the bag of betony on his dresser and went to his bed. Quietly, he sat down and took off his shoes.

  “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 an
d 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.

  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.

&
nbsp; 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.