by Amy Cross
“This much morphine could kill her,” the nurse said, hurrying over to him with a syringe in her hands. “Doctor, she's already -”
“This much pain could kill her,” he snapped, grabbing the syringe.
“But if -”
“Don't worry,” he continued, sliding the needle into the little girl's arm and pushing the plunger down, “I'll sign the paperwork. If anything goes wrong, I'll take full responsibility, but I refuse to let this girl writhe in agony.” Once he'd completed the injection, he tossed the syringe aside and then waited, counting the seconds as the morphine made its way through Sabrina's system. “There has to be another way,” he muttered. “She can't go on like this.”
He put a hand on the side of her neck, and she screamed again.
Chapter Nine
Today
“Hey, did -”
Startled, Elly stepped back from the cupboard, only to bang the side of her head against the door. Letting out a gasp of pain, she stepped back.
“Wow,” Sharon continued with a grin, “when you said you're easily scared, you weren't kidding, were you?”
“Sorry,” Elly replied, rubbing the sore spot. “I didn't hear you coming up behind me.”
“Evidently. Have you always been so goddamn jumpy? What happened to you when you were a kid, did someone drop a tray of drinks on your head or something?”
“Nothing like that,” Elly replied, stepping back toward the cupboard so she could take out a set of clean towels. “I've just always been like it.”
“So next time I come into a room and find you alone with your back to me, is there any way I can get your attention without causing you to bash your own head against the nearest surface?”
“Probably not,” Elly said with a smile, closing the cupboard door and setting the towels down on a nearby table. “I'm just -”
Before she could finish, both women heard a brief, loud bump from the next room. They turned and looked toward the door, but the sound was already over.
“I didn't think there was anyone in there,” Elly said cautiously.
Heading over, Sharon opened the door and looked through, before turning to her. “There isn't. Must've been the ghost of Priscilla Parsons again.”
“Who?”
“Hasn't anyone told you about Priscilla Parsons?”
“No,” Elly replied, “and I don't think I want to hear about it, not if it's some stupid ghost story.”
“Okay, then,” Sharon replied, grabbing a folder from the desk and then heading to the other door. “Stay ignorant. No skin off my nose.”
“Who's Priscilla Parsons?”
Smiling, Sharon turned to her. “You sure you wanna know? 'Cause Priscilla ain't just quirky and harmless like Mary, Priscilla's a whole different kettle of fish.” She paused, before heading over to the window. “Come here, then. Let me show you something.”
Heading over to join her, Elly looked out and saw the yard a couple of storeys down in the darkness below, lit by only one small electric light on the wall. It was the same yard in which she'd had to clean up a mess of spilled bags on her first night shift, and she'd been out there a few more times over the past few days, usually just to drop things into one of the medical waste containers. After a moment, she spotted the frosted window where she'd thought she'd seen a figure, but there was no-one there now.
“Of course I don't believe in ghosts myself,” Sharon continued, “but if I did, that yard down there is one place I'd never wanna get caught out by myself.”
“Why not?”
“It's where Priscilla Parsons was murdered, something like fifty years ago.”
“Murdered?”
“She was a nurse here,” Sharon continued. “Real pretty, too. I've seen photos. Anyway, this was back in the day, but she was a nurse at Middleford Cross and it was well known among the other nurses that Priscilla had herself a man. Remember, back then it was a lot easier to scandalize people. So the fact that Priscilla used to meet her man down in the yard some nights during her breaks, that set tongues wagging.”
“Right down there?” Elly asked, feeling a little uneasy. “In that exact yard?”
“In that exact yard. According to the version of the story I heard, she'd sneak down there around midnight for her break and share a cigarette with her man whenever he was in town. No-one really knew who he was or how she'd met him, or how far he'd travel to meet up with her. The other nurses, they didn't even know his name, they just overheard her calling him Honeybunch a load of times. Great nickname, huh? Honeybunch...” She paused, as they both continued to look down at the yard. “Such a shame.”
“What is?” Elly asked.
“Well, one night Priscilla Parsons didn't come back from her break, so eventually another nurse was sent to go check on her.”
They stood in silence for a moment.
“She found Priscilla face down in the rain,” Sharon continued, “with all of her blood just flowing out from all these holes in her neck and chest. Apparently the coroner never worked out how many separate stab wounds there were, he gave up counting when he got to a hundred. Whatever happened, it was a real frenzied attack, but no-one heard anything. No cries, no screams... There'd have been nurses and doctors working right here in this very office we're standing in right now, while poor Priscilla Parsons was being murdered down there.”
“Did... Did Honeybunch kill her?”
“Who knows? No-one knew enough about him to track him down.”
Elly opened her mouth to reply, but for a moment she could only stare at the single electric light blazing in the darkness, illuminating a small part of the yard.
“Well,” she said finally, “you're right, that was a pretty sad story. I mean, it's horrific when you think about it.”
“It ain't over,” Sharon replied. “They never caught up with Honeybunch to find out if he was the one who killed her, but there's plenty of people who'll tell you that Priscilla Parsons is still around, mainly in the yard but also sometimes in other parts of the hospital. They say her soul wanders the place, lost for eternity while she waits for Honeybunch. In fact...” She checked her watch. “It's too early right now, but according to the story, Priscilla's break was always at one in the morning. And sometimes, if you look out at the yard at that moment, you can see Priscilla still down there, still waiting for her man.”
Elly felt a shiver pass through her chest. Finally, she turned to Sharon. “You're just trying to scare me.”
“Course I am,” Sharon replied, nudging her arm and then heading over to the door, “but that doesn't mean the Priscilla Parsons story is a lie. Apart from the ghost part, that is. I mean, Jesus, I don't know about you but I have enough on my plate dealing with living people, I sure as hell don't have time to worry about the dead too.” She turned to Elly. “You got a honeybunch out there?”
“Me?” Elly paused, before shaking her head. “No.”
“Really? Pretty young lady such as yourself, got no-one to keep her warm at night?”
“I have a radiator next to my bed,” Elly replied, before realizing what she'd meant. “I mean, I'm fine.”
“Sure you are, girl. Sure you are.”
Once Sharon had left the room, Elly turned to look back out the window. Watching the patch of light in the yard, she half expected to see a figure making its way through the shadows, although after a moment she realized she was just allowing herself to get all hyped up. She figured that Sharon had intentionally been trying to freak her out, and that the story of Priscilla Parsons and Honeybunch was most likely a vast exaggeration at best and maybe even a complete lie. Grabbing the towels from the table, she headed to the door, determined to get back to work and forget all about the dumb ghost story.
***
“I worked on the railroad for damn near half a century,” Lacy muttered, wincing slightly as Elly stretched out his left leg on the bed. “There weren't many of us doing it by the end, but back in the old days, a man could make a decent living that w
ay and see the whole damn country. I've been to every state in the union, except Hawaii and Alaska.”
“It sounds fun,” she replied, using a swab to clean between his toes.
“No, it was hell,” he continued, with a faint smile. “Most of the time, anyway. Hard work, long hours, stretches of boredom that could last a week. It wasn't romantic, not like you see in the movies. Still, there were moments that made it all worthwhile, just little snatches of beauty or poetry whenever you got far enough away from civilization. That's the crazy thing, really. I knew a couple of guys who tried to ride poetry while they were working the railroad lines, but if you ask me, the real poetry was flashing past all the time.”
“Do you miss it?”
He shook his head. “I did it for long enough.” Pausing, he seemed to be reconsidering his answer. “I miss the really long routes, the ones that took you out into the middle of nowhere for a couple of days at a time. There was one not far from here, actually, ran through the forest. I don't know if it's still there, but I remember when you could just sit there in the engine room, just two of you on duty, and watch the darkness go past in the middle of the night. Of course, sometimes...” His voice trailed off and he stared into space for a moment, before blinking a couple of time and turning to her. “I've never been one for daytime much, daytime's ugly, I've always liked the night. That's why TV's always better at night. It's gaining something from the darkness.”
She smiled.
“You don't mind working nights?” he asked.
“It's fine.”
“Puts you out of sync with the rest of the world, though.”
“I don't mind. I get home around eight in the morning and do a few chores, then I go to bed and... Well, most of the day just slips past. Maybe it's like you said, maybe night's better. I don't really miss being awake during the day.”
“Careful,” he replied, “you're turning into a recluse like me.” He paused, watching her work for a moment. “You seem kind,” he continued finally. “Honest. A good person.”
“I don't know about that.” She couldn't help but blush a little.
“By all accounts, you saved my life.”
“I'm a nurse. It's my job.”
“I need a favor from you.”
She glanced at him. “What kind of favor?”
“You asked me earlier if there was anyone I needed to get in touch with. Someone who might want to know that I'm here.”
“Of course,” she replied. “Just give me their number and I'll be happy to call.”
“It's not the kind of someone you can call,” he continued. “I don't have any friends, I don't have any family, not really, but there's one person who's probably worried about me and who could probably use a little visit.”
She frowned.
Smiling, he held up his arm to show her the bandage.
“Oh,” she said, realizing what he meant.
“My cat,” he continued. “Her name's Pearl, and even though she apparently nibbled on me while I was unconscious, I still feel bad for her. I figure she's probably in my apartment and worrying where I am. This might sound crazy, but it breaks my heart to think that she might worry I've abandoned her, like I don't care any more. She's never been much of an adventurer, she might just stay holed up there and starve to death.” He paused again. “The key to my apartment is in my pants, over on that chair. I know this is a lot to ask, but is there any way you'd be willing to drop by the place and put some food in her bowl, and maybe just give her a quick petting, to make her feel like I still care? I want her to stick around and still be there when I get back. If I get back.”
“I...” She thought about it for a moment, before nodding. “Sure. I'd be happy to do that for you.”
“You're an angel. Pass my pants.”
Fetching his trousers, she handed them to him and watched as he rooted through the pockets. Finally, he pulled out a set of keys and gave them to her.
“I'm not a rich man,” he continued, “but there's some money in a tin on the bookshelf next to my TV. Take what you need out of that to buy cat food. If you just set down plenty of bowls for her, they should last her a good long time.”
“I can visit her regularly,” Elly replied. “It's not a problem.”
“I don't want to inconvenience you.”
“It's absolutely fine.” Slipping the keys into her pocket, she realized it had been a long time since she'd felt she was really helping someone. “I look forward to meeting Pearl.”
“There's one other thing,” he continued. “It's a little delicate, but while you're in my apartment feeding the cat, I was wondering if you could look under my bed. There's an old suitcase, it's a little big and heavy but if you could bring it to me, I'd be eternally grateful. Again, I'm afraid I don't have money to offer you, but it would mean the world to me.”
“Sure,” she replied. “Do you want me to put some clothes in there for you?”
“No. In fact, I want you to promise you won't open the suitcase at all.”
She frowned. “Okay, sure.”
“It's locked,” he continued, “and I know the combination, it's not written down anywhere. Just don't try to force it open or anything like that.”
“Of course not.”
“Do you promise?”
“I promise.”
He paused, as if he wasn't quite sure whether he could trust her. Finally, a relieved smile broke out across his face. “I feel bad asking,” he told her, “but it's just a difficult situation. If I'd known I was coming to hospital, I could've prepared, but this was all so sudden. I don't like relying on other people, I never have, but in the circumstances I have no choice.”
“I'll go after my shift ends in the morning.”
“But you mustn't open the suitcase,” he continued, clearly worried. “Like I said, it's locked but if something should happen, if the lock should break or the lining gets damaged... It's just old photos in there, personal matters, that kind of thing, I...” He paused. “I feel like I can trust you, you seem like a very honest person. I like to think I'm a good judge of character. Whenever I meet someone new, I reckon I get a hang of them pretty quickly.”
“Please stop worrying,” she told him, as she started to rub some balm onto his foot. “I'll feed your cat. And this time tomorrow, you'll have your suitcase right here with you.”
“That's all I ask,” he replied. “Thank you. You're a true angel.”
***
Outside, in the dark yard, a figure moved through the shadows. Stopping, she looked up at one of the windows for a moment. Her dead eyes focused unblinkingly on the light, and finally she whispered a name.
Part Three
The Woman at the Bar
Chapter Ten
Five years ago
“My daughter is in a coma,” Brandon Huntingdon said firmly, turning from the window. “I put my trust in this hospital and now she's in a goddamn coma! I want to know why!”
“Sabrina's treatment hasn't gone as we expected,” Doctor Carmichael replied, standing in the doorway of the hospital's family room. “There were some complications and unfortunately they -”
“What kind of complications?”
“Well -”
“I want details, man,” Brandon snapped. “I want all of her medical charts, all of her notes. I'm going to turn them over to a friend of mine out in California. He's a surgeon, he knows what he's talking about, and I swear to God...” He paused for a moment. “If Sabrina's treatment has been mishandled, there will be hell to pay. I will bring so many lawsuits against this hospital, none of you will know what hit you.”
“Your daughter has been in a lot of pain.”
“Because of the tumor on her spine. I know that.”
“The pressure -”
“I know that too!” Brandon shouted, stepping toward him as if his anger was about to boil over. Stopping by the desk, he paused. “You've told me these things a thousand times, but you never seem to actually make any progres
s. I thought the last operation was supposed to reduce the pressure and ensure that there'd be no further damage. Instead, I've had to take a break from my campaign tour to fly back here, and now I'm told that she's in an unresponsive state and that the tumor has impacted her spinal column! Do you people know what you're doing at all?”
“The level of pain -”
“I spoke to another of the doctors,” Brandon continued, “about all this morphine you've been giving her. I asked Doctor Ford point blank if she'd been given too much, and he refused to answer.”
Carmichael paused. “Doctor Ford -”
“I'm a wealthy man,” Brandon said firmly. “I'm not like all the other parents you deal with day in and day out. I have the money to pursue legal action against this hospital if you butchers have done anything wrong. My wife and I won't be waved away with vague medical nonsense.”
“No-one's trying to do that,” Carmichael replied, “I can assure you. Sabrina has been given morphine to deal with the pain, otherwise she'd still be screaming. We can't operate again, not this soon and not with the tumor pressing so heavily against her spine, the risks would be too great and she could end up paralyzed. Right now, our best option is to -”
Stopping suddenly, he realized there was something else in the room, something moving just a little way behind Brandon Huntingdon. After a moment, he was shocked to see Sabrina stepping into view, watching him intently with a calm expression and a faint smile.
“Our best option is what?” Brandon snapped. “Come on, man, speak!”
“Our...” Unable to stop staring at Sabrina, Carmichael felt a nauseating sense of unease spreading through his chest.
“Spit it out,” Brandon continued, checking his watch. “I have a meeting in an hour's time on the other side of the city. I have to talk to some backers who are interested in my Senate campaign. I don't have time for you to waffle like this, I want to know what you're going to do for my daughter.” He paused, waiting for a reply. “Will she be cured by the end of the month? I want her on the campaign trail with me. If not, I'll have to speak to my advisers. A sick child might play well in the polls, but it's a delicate subject. It'll make the whole campaign much more difficult to coordinate.”
