Sanford Hospital (Berkley Street Series Book 4)

by Ron Ripley

  Of course, I was, the voice continued, almost cooing. I’ve always been with you. Don’t think otherwise.

  Go away, Clay thought. Go away. I don’t want you here right now.

  No? the voice asked innocently. Oh, I see. You’d rather listen to the dead men dying than to me. Yes, that’s right. You’re waiting to hear Ruth’s soft step by your bed. Do you think she’ll have the window open, or keep it closed when she slips you your final dose of morphine, Clay?

  “Shut up!” Clay screamed, opening his eyes.

  The orderlies, both of whom wore gasmasks and who stood at the office door, looked at him, one of them taking a step towards Clay. Ruth walked out of the office and put her hand on the man’s arm and shook her head. The orderly shrugged and stepped back.

  Ruth walked across the ward to Clay and smiled down at him.

  “Hello, Clay,” she said.

  Clay swallowed nervously and said, “Hello, Nurse.”

  “Would you like a sedative?” she asked.

  He shook his head.

  Ruth leaned over and whispered, “Clay, it’s not your time. You won’t die yet. Perhaps in a few days, perhaps longer. I haven’t made up my mind. I will give you a sedative, and only a sedative. I promise.”

  Clay licked his lips, rubbed at the scar on his face and asked softly, “Will you leave the window open?”

  She nodded.

  “Very good, Clay,” she said, straightening up. As she walked away, Clay saw Gil and Fredericks.

  The two dead men stood off to the right of the orderlies, and Gil waved to Clay when he saw him. Clay hesitantly returned the wave, and then pulled the blankets over his head.

  Bonus Scene Chapter 4: The Dead Increase

  Alec Greene screamed louder than a man without a tongue should have been able to.

  Clay looked up, surprised.

  Few of the other patients hardly paid any attention to Alec, and the orderlies didn’t bother to come out of the office. The men on E Ward were left to their own fate.

  Alec was trapped in his bed much the same way Clay was confined to his. Clay, however, had more left of his legs, and he could still chew his food. Alec could not.

  Yet as he looked at Alec, Clay saw the man was pointing at something.

  Clay allowed his eyes to follow the line of the other man’s finger, and he stiffened.

  At the far end of the ward stood Gil. And there were others too. Many of them. Clay managed to count seventeen of them, but then they shifted in and out of focus too quickly.

  Especially for a man with one eye, Clay thought.

  You’re a fairly stupid sod, aren’t you, the voice told him tiredly.

  That wasn’t particularly pleasant, Clay retorted.

  The voice snorted and replied, You are stupid, Clay. Admit it. Admit it and I’ll tell you what it is you’re not realizing.

  “I’m not stupid,” Clay muttered, and he stared at the dead men as Alec continued to scream.

  Have you figured it out yet? the voice sneered.

  There’s nothing to figure out, Clay thought.

  Alec screamed, his face red. The ghosts looked at the tongue-less man without sympathy or concern.

  “They see him,” Clay whispered. “And he sees them.”

  Oh, you did notice! the voice said sarcastically. I’m honestly surprised. I never thought you would have realized what was happening.

  Clay ignored the voice.

  If Alec sees them, then that means I’m not imagining them, Clay thought. It means they’re really there.

  And what else does it mean? the voice asked. There was no humor to the question or in its tone. Think, Clay, this is important.

  Clay closed his eyes tightly and thought hard, his brain hurt with the effort. Then his eyes snapped open, and he stared at the office door.

  She’s really killing them, Clay thought. She’s killing all of them.

  The voice sighed with satisfaction. And what else?

  It means she’s going to kill me, Clay realized, looking back to the ghosts. Soon I’ll be with them. I need to tell someone.

  He searched the room, attempting to look for anyone who might listen.

  Clay saw no one.

  He was in a room full of the dying. The orderlies wouldn’t care, even if they would believe him. Their disdain was proven each day by their actions. Ruth protected the men of E Ward from the staff.

  But only so she can kill us herself, Clay thought, shivering.

  He bit back a whimper and sank down into the protection of his blankets. Alec continued to scream, and Clay wondered if the tongue-less man knew what it was Ruth Williamson did on E Ward.

  Bonus Scene Chapter 5: A Discussion on the Dead

  Those men who had been ill, but not terribly so, had been kept on the lower wards. With the arrival of Spanish Influenza, the infected had been moved first to D Ward. Then on to C Ward, B Ward, and A Ward, until nowhere was safe and free of the disease.

  Eventually, when enough men had died, A Ward was used to hold the healthy. E Ward, Clay learned, had the highest mortality rate of any in the hospital.

  And why not? Clay thought morosely. We’re the worst off. The ones with the gravest of injuries. With Ruth deciding who she wanted to kill.

  When Clay awoke on a Sunday morning, he had a new neighbor on E Ward. The man was old. Older than any man Clay could remember seeing.

  For several minutes, Clay stared at him. The man had a beard, snow white for the most part, although it looked as though chewing tobacco had stained the edges of his mustachios. His hair was equally as white, and nearly as long. The pale locks framed a face seemingly crafted from thin paper-mache. Each cheekbone was highlighted, the eyes sunk deep in their sockets. Thick, wiry eyebrows, accentuated the valleys and grooves of his wrinkles. The new arrival’s lips were thin, a tint of blue to them as the man’s chest rose and fell with a ragged rhythm.

  As Clay stared at him, the man opened an eye and stared back at Clay. The eye, which had an iris of deep gray, blinked several times, and then a smile appeared on the stranger’s face.

  Clay returned the smile cautiously.

  “You sir,” the man said, “are an impressive visage to awaken to.”

  “Thank you,” Clay said.

  “Your name?” the man asked, and Clay told him.

  “We are well met, then, Clay,” the stranger said. “My own name is Stefan.”

  Stefan’s other eye opened lazily, and Clay saw it was a pure, opal color.

  “Impressive, no?” Stefan asked, grinning. “A Reb mini-ball bounced off of my skull and did the deed. Fredericksburg. My first battle, and my last, as it turned out. The same ball which colored my eye, well, it knocked me down and out, and I spent a good deal of time as a guest of the Confederate Government.”

  Stefan snorted and shook his head.

  “All of that is far and away,” Stefan said, sighing as he lay back on his bed. He glanced over at Clay and said, “You have an impressive set of rails there, young man. Do you climb out at night?”

  “I did,” Clay admitted. “I tried to get away from the raids.”

  “Even though there are no raids here,” Stefan said softly. “Was it a raid which made your face the pretty mess it is now?”

  Clay nodded.

  “And are your legs a bit short?”

  “They are,” Clay said.

  “I am impressed you are alive,” Stefan said after a minute. He looked around the ward and then asked, “Is there something wrong up here?”

  “Yes,” Clay said. “Death is here and she walks among us.”

  Stefan nodded. “I can feel it. There’s something wrong here, son. And it seeks us, doesn’t it.”

  It wasn’t a question, but Clay responded as if it was. “Yes.”

  Stefan hesitated and then said, “When I came up earlier, and you were asleep, I thought I saw someone. Someone familiar.”

  “But they’re dead,” Clay whispered.

  Stefan looked at hi
m sharply, studied Clay’s face, and then he nodded. “Yes. He’s dead. Only a few days, mind you. The Influenza took him.”

  “You saw his ghost,” Clay said, “up here, to the right of the orderly door. Your friend stood there and looked out until he saw you.”

  “You saw him?” Stefan asked.

  Clay shook his head. “No. But there are others up here. She has made them, though not all she kills remain.”

  “She?” Stefan asked confusion in his voice. “Who is ‘she’? Who are you talking about?”

  “The Nurse,” Clay answered. The door to the office opened, and Ruth stepped out. She saw Clay and waved to him. He returned the wave politely.

  “What nurse?” Stefan asked.

  “That one,” Clay replied. “Nurse Williamson. She is Death on E Ward. When she decides it’s time for you to die, well, it’s time for you to die.”

  Both he and Stefan watched as she walked to the far end and began her rounds, a pair of orderlies close behind her.

  Stefan reached under his blanket, pulled out a plug of tobacco and bit off a piece. His finger shook with palsy as he tugged the chew in between his gum and lip. Stefan put the tobacco away, looked back at Ruth and shook his head.

  “Well,” the old man said, leaning over partially and spitting a bit of brown juice onto the floor, “I suppose we’ll need to watch her then, won’t we.”

  Clay nodded and wondered, When will she come for me?

  Bonus Scene Chapter 6: Movement in the Dark

  Clay awoke sharply and lay still, listening.

  He glanced at Stefan and saw the old man was awake as well. Stefan raised a finger to his lips, and Clay remained quiet. Whispers reached his ears, and Clay realized there was a curious, otherworldly note to the voices. Each word sounded as though it was spoken in a long, narrow hallway. The syllables echoing off of stone walls.

  The dead are speaking, Clay thought, and he listened harder.

  “She takes too much upon herself,” a voice said.

  “Silence!”

  Clay recognized the second speaker as Gil.

  “I’ll not,” the other ghost snapped. “She has no right to say who lives and who dies.”

  “You’ll watch your mouth, Hamilton,” Gil said sharply.

  Stefan’s eyes widened in surprise.

  His friend, Clay thought.

  “And who are you?” Hamilton sneered. “Who do you think you are, to tell me anything?”

  The temperature in the ward plummeted, and Clay shivered violently in response. White clouds of his breath curled out of his mouth, streamed out of his nose, and filled the air above him. The same occurred with Stefan.

  Living men began to weep, others to howl.

  “See what you’ve done!” Gil yelled, and there was a horrific tearing sound. An inhuman scream caused Clay’s eyes to roll up. The noise churned his gut, caused his ears to ache and his head to pound.

  Clay twisted in his bed to see what the source of the noise was, and when he had, he wished he could un-see it. Gil and some of the other ghosts stood over another spirit. And they were tearing at him. Shreds of the unknown person were cast aside like loose paper. What had once been the visage of a man was no more.

  The cacophony of the living drowned out the violence of the dead. Lights came on and suddenly Ruth and the orderlies were among them.

  Stefan sat upright, opened his mouth and let out a terrifying yell. The curious sound churned Clay’s soul and a wicked grin spread across Stefan’s face. The old man winked at Clay, and Stefan began shouting in German.

  As the man howled and yelled in the foreign language, Nurse Williamson focused on Stefan. Within a minute, the orderlies and Ruth were trying to calm Stefan down, but the old man was exceptionally strong. He kicked out, striking the nurse in the chest and sending her back into Clay’s bed.

  The syringe and morphine she carried dropped into Clay’s sheets, and she fell to the floor, unconscious.

  The orderlies paused in their attempts to subdue Stefan, but when they saw Ruth’s condition, they focused their attentions on the man once more. They started to beat him. The blows were fast and violent. They had no desire to subdue the old man; merely to hurt him.

  Stefan laughed at the younger men and spit a vile stream of tobacco juice at one of them. The man brought up a massive hand, clenched it into a fist and brought it down hard on Stefan’s head. Clay watched in horror as Stefan’s cheek collapsed and his nose was smeared off to the left. The man’s right eye exploded in a massive gush of blood and white matter.

  Stefan drew in a deep, shuddering breath, and then released a laugh which was closer to a howl. The old man spit again, and the second orderly broke Stefan’s jaw. Bloody, shattered teeth spilled out of the old man’s mouth before he fell back to the pillow.

  As the orderlies leaned over Stefan’s body and continued to brutalize him, Clay’s own hands found the syringe and the morphine.

  Better to go out on your own terms, the voice said calmly.

  Clay nodded his agreement, drew the items up to him, and hid them beneath the blankets.

  When should I do it? Clay wondered.

  You’ll know when, the voice said confidently. I’ll help you know when to go, Clay. Haven’t I always told you what you need to know?

  Yes, Clay thought with a sigh.

  He closed his eyes and ignored the drawn-out murder of Stefan.

  Clay had slept through worse.

  Bonus Scene Chapter 7: Finding the Right Time

  Stefan did not return as a ghost, and for that Clay was thankful.

  He had enjoyed the man’s company when alive, but Clay wasn’t certain how entertaining Stefan would be as a ghost.

  Night was once again creeping upon the world. Clay sat in his bed and looked out over the ward. Some of the beds were empty, the mattresses stripped of linens and rolled up. The dull metal of the springs absorbed what little light was thrown at them. Many of the men were too sick to speak.

  Clay was not.

  The illness had swept over and around him. It had killed men on his left, and men on his right. Others had replaced the dead, and they too had died. Only a few ghosts remained on the ward, watching over the patients.

  Ruth no longer left the ward.

  All of the orderlies, regardless of their shifts, had become devoted to her. When she exited the office to perform her rounds, the staff flanked her. They protected her. No longer would they risk an attack. Stefan’s death had allowed Clay the opportunity to hide the morphine and the syringe. Many times since the older man’s murder Clay had taken the morphine out and examined it.

  Will it be enough? he wondered. Will I be able to end it with this?

  Shh, be at peace, the voice told him softly. Look how small she is. Larger men have been killed with smaller doses. All will be well.

  The darkness grew, and several of the lights were turned off on the ward. An orderly stood on either side of the office door, and Clay suddenly had a burst of fear.

  Tonight, he thought, his throat tightening with fear. She’ll come out for me tonight.

  The voice made no response.

  Clay stared hard at the orderlies. Neither of the men, he saw, were paying any attention to him. Or to anyone else on the ward. Instead, they spoke in low voices, and what their conversation was, Clay couldn’t hear.

  With his one good eye, Clay looked down at the bottle of morphine and the syringe he had managed to hide for weeks. Each was warm from being pressed against his flesh. Clay forced himself to be calm. When the muscles of his throat had loosened, when his hands no longer trembled, Clay prepared the syringe. A sense of detachment drifted over him. Soon, he held the instrument, fully loaded with the morphine.

  I will do this, Clay thought, looking down at the syringe. I alone will be responsible.

  Are you ready? the voice asked. There was steel in the words. A grim determination which seemed to match Clay’s own.

  Yes, Clay replied. I am ready.


  Good, the voice said. We come to the end of it then.

  Clay pulled his blanket over the syringe, keeping the hypodermic needle ready. He settled back against his pillows and waited.

  Time passed, agonizingly slow. Several times the door to the office opened, and he became tense, but Ruth only whispered to the orderlies. The men, in turn, nodded. After the third time, their eyes locked onto Clay’s and remained there.

  Clay returned the stare. His hands were steady, one on the syringe, the other loose upon the blanket. He was prepared. Clay knew what was coming.

  Are you ready to die? the voice asked him.

  Clay considered the question for a moment, and then he said, “Yes. I’m ready.”

  “Ready for what, Clay?” Ruth asked.

  Clay looked up, surprised. He had drifted away from reality and missed the approach of the Nurse and her guards.

  An orderly stood on either side of his bed, and Ruth on his right, smiling down at him.

  “Did you hear me?” she asked politely.

  Clay smiled. He felt the scar tissue on his face stretch and pull uncomfortably. Some surgeon in France had promised the scars would be fixed one day.

  Another lie. One of many, Clay thought to himself. Aloud he said, “I did hear you, yes, Nurse.”

  “Then answer her,” one of the orderlies snapped.

  Clay’s smile twisted itself into a grin, and the orderly paled as he took a nervous step backward.

  “What are you ready for?” Ruth asked again.

  “Death,” Clay answered.

  Her eyes widened in surprise, but an expression of relief filled her pretty face.

  “I am so pleased to hear you say so,” Ruth said. “Truly I am. While I know that what I do is necessary, and a blessing, it is still difficult at times.”

  Clay nodded sympathetically.

  “Is there anything you require, before I go and fetch the medicine?” she asked.

  Clay saw both of the orderlies were looking politely away. He decided to be daring.