Always a Wanderer

by Danica Winters

  Angel’s eyebrow rose skeptically as she waved down at her clothes. She had on the same tube top she’d worn the first week she moved into their little cottage, and her jean cutoffs were so tattered that the ends of the pockets hung lower than the hem. “I bet they would just love this look in the Oak Room. I’d fit right in with the ladies in their fancy hats.”

  “You can change your clothes.” Helena felt like a bit of a fraud; fitting in at the manor wasn’t as simple as getting a new wardrobe.

  “That ain’t all that’s gonna stop me, ya know it. Ya think they won’t hear the way I talk? And you and I both know the second someone tries to go smartin’ off at me...I’ll be fired my first week.”

  “Ya don’t have to work with the public. There’s any number of jobs, Angel.”

  “And what about the kids?” She motioned to the boys.

  “There’s daycare for Liam, and Gavin’s in school. Between Da, you, and me, we can take care of them. We can make this work—as long as gettin’ a job at the manor’s something you want.”

  Angel nibbled at her bottom lip as she led Liam and Gavin out of the bathroom and toward the bedroom they all shared. She looked around the tiny room, packed with a medley of brightly colored secondhand toy swords and robots, stacks of hand-me-down clothes in laundry baskets with no place to go, and the two bunk beds that had come with the cottage.

  “Aye, it would be okay. I mean, it would be right helpful if I set about earnin’ some money. Maybe we could, ya know, look for a place of our own.” She waved at the room around them. “I dunno about ya, but this ain’t my idea of paradise.”

  Helena wasn’t sure if her sister was including her in the plan to leave or not, but she hated to ask.

  Her home life was so much calmer, and Helena had grown to enjoy life in the little cottage. She hated to think of what would become of their dwindling family if her sister and Liam left. The thought of this blip in time ending made her ache with loneliness.

  “Besides,” Angel said, “you got enough on your plate to worry about. I think it’s time I start thinking about my future. With me taggin’ along, you’ll never be welcome at another campsite.”

  “I ain’t plannin’ on going back to a campsite anytime soon. And if they got a problem with ya, they can take it up with me.” Helena smiled. “As for now, don’t worry about movin’. Just do what ya need to do. Go on ahead and save up and plan for the future, but I’m happy to have ya here.”

  “But wouldn’t you like your privacy? I know things are heatin’ up between you and Graham.”

  Was her sister really that oblivious to things outside the home? Graham and Helena hadn’t been heating up for months.

  “Don’t worry about us,” Helena said, tucking Gavin in bed beside Liam with a quick kiss on the head. “Love ya, lad.”

  Angel kissed Liam and she and Helena made their way out of the room to the box of a kitchen and sat at their rented table. Her sister thumped down into one of the green vinyl chairs and stared at the mug of tea in her hands. She still looked wrapped up in her thoughts of getting out of this place.

  In many ways, Angel wasn’t wrong about needing to move. They were still living on the church’s grounds and at a cheaper rate than they should have been. It bothered Da, so much so that he’d been home less and less, as summer turned into fall and he let his work consume him. When Helena saw him, he was always working around the church grounds, mowing the grass or fixing a broken pew. He had made it clear that it was his way of repaying the church for their kindness—but from the tight look on his face whenever he came home to rest, she wondered if he felt the strain of their arrangement as well.

  “Do ya really think we would be better off if I quit and we moved along?” Helena asked.

  Angel stood up and poured herself another cup of tea and one for Helena before sitting down across from her. Angel took a long drink of the hot liquid. In fact, it was such a long drink that Helena wondered how she wasn’t burning her tongue. Finally, she slowly lowered her cup and tapped her fingers on its sides.

  “Gra, I know how hard this must be on ya. This world’s hard. Our world is hard. And bringing the two together is...well, it’s damn near impossible. I failed. But I’m here because I’m not giving up. I want my family. Wherever we go. Whatever we do. We will make it, so long as we always remember to love one another.” Angel stopped moving her fingers. “And that goes for you and Graham too. I know it’s not easy to stay close when your worlds are always pullin’ ya apart. In the end, that’s what happened to Duncan and me. I couldn’t bridge the gap. But again...that don’t mean you won’t be able to. Graham’s a right good man. He’s good for you. Look at all that you’ve done together. Ya built the hospital. You’re helpin’ not just people now, but far into the future.”

  Helena thought of Mr. Shane and his threat and her mistake with Neill. The future—including the hospital’s—wasn’t guaranteed.

  *.*.*

  The hospital was bustling as nurses rushed past him and patients cried out from their rooms for care. Graham had always thought he had nerves of steel, but listening to their moans as he looked up at the corpse made him shudder.

  Why would Neill have killed himself? Did it have something to do with his criminal past? Or had Neill not done this to himself? Was it possible they had a murderer in their midst?

  Graham had so many questions going through his mind as he stared down at his mobile and tried to decide whether or not to tell Helena. She had saved the man’s life, only to have him die at the hospital. It had taken a toll on her—using her magic always wore her down—and the worst part was that none of it made sense.

  He looked over at the man. Neill’s eyes were open and unseeing, and the little capillaries around his pupils had burst, sending starbursts of crimson throughout the bulging orbs. Graham had seen death, but the man’s eyes—his gape of the tortured—forced him to look away.

  “Cut him down,” John said, motioning toward two of the male nurses who were standing just outside the room’s door. “And I don’t want anyone to speak of this.” He glanced down at his watch. “What time is the grand opening tomorrow?”

  The last time he’d spoken to his stepfather, John had been threatening to shut them down, and now he was asking about their party for the opening? He couldn’t be serious.

  “Are you fecking kidding me, John?”

  “The show must go on.” His stepfather gave him a withering glance, but he didn’t look away. “Why don’t you and I step out for a bit? Let them clean up this mess.” John looked to the nurses, who were readying to cut down the corpse. “Take the body down to the morgue. I’ll have my people notify his family.”

  What in the hell was wrong with the man? First, he didn’t want anyone to speak about it, but now he was going to notify Neill’s family? And tell them what? That Neill had died at a hospital that wasn’t supposed to exist? And what about the police? Last year, in the case of Chester’s death in the manor’s kitchen, they had called in the police and it caused turmoil for the whole manor, between the loss in revenue and the PR disaster the death became. A disaster they were just starting to overcome. John had been vocal about another event of its sort not happening again. Yet, here they were.

  Graham followed John to an empty room at the end of the hallway—well out of earshot of the staff.

  “You had no right calling me out in front of them,” John said, shutting the door to the room behind them. “Regardless of what you think, you are not in control. You don’t own the manor, this hospital, or the land that any of it resides on—I do.”

  “You and my mother.”

  John answered with a smug chuckle. “Are you going to call her, so she can come and defend you?”

  Rage seeped through him. He’d always had a strained relationship with his stepfather, but he’d never wanted to punch him in the throat so badly.

  “I don’t need my mother’s—or your—permission to speak my mind. I am the chair of this hospital, and as s
uch I have a right to question and refuse to accept your bullshit.”

  “Mine? How about you take a look at yourself? I’m just trying to get you—and my hospital—out of the possibly catastrophic position you and your little gypsy queen just put us in.”

  John could speak of Graham and his position—but he had no right pulling Helena into this. She had done nothing wrong.

  “Don’t you fecking dare. She did the right thing in bringing the man here. She saved Neill’s life and what could have been his future,” he said, letting the acid roll off his tongue. “Yet we leave you alone with the man, and a decision you didn’t agree with, and then the man ends up dead. I doubt it’s just a coincidence.”

  “Are you accusing me of murdering him?” John’s face pinched into a tight scowl. “You are more idiotic than that gypsy if you think I’d be so stupid as to put everything I love at risk because I didn’t agree with you and your woman. There are a thousand ways I would have controlled that situation before I’d decide to have that man killed. I wouldn’t stoop so low.”

  The way John spoke made every hair on the back of Graham’s neck stand on end. “We both know that isn’t true. If there is even a whisper of money involved, you will do whatever you need to get ahead. Even if it means selling your wife’s—or your son’s—soul.”

  John’s jaw clenched, and Graham could hear the sound of him grinding his teeth with poorly contained rage.

  “You think you’re so fucking different than me. But you don’t understand anything. Do you know how hard I’ve had to work to keep this manor afloat? Especially when we were starting out? How dare you judge me.”

  “You nearly killed the people who loved you the most. Was it worth it?”

  His stepfather closed the distance between them and pressed his face so close that Graham could see the little black dots of the pores on his nose.

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, spittle hitting Graham’s cheeks.

  Graham refused to step back. “You used them with the book. You thought the Codex Gigas would be the answer to all your money problems. Now, again, there is something, a man, who stands in the way of possibly making this hospital profitable—when there is money on the table, murder is far from being out of the question for a man like you. Right now, with all the pieces coming together to make this place profitable, you aren’t going to let anyone stand in the way.”

  “What are you talking about? I didn’t want this hospital in the first place. I’ve never been behind the project.” John paused. “But if you run this business like you run your mouth...Hell, I won’t even have to lift a finger to be afforded the pleasure of watching you fail.”

  “I won’t fail. I can’t fail. These people, those with abilities and their families, depend on this place. We’re all they’ve got.” Graham wiped the spittle from his face. “You may say you’re not behind this, but you could have stopped it months ago if you really wanted to. Let’s be honest with one another for once. You and I both know that you had us do the legwork and find the funds to build this place, and now you’re just waiting to deposit the checks.”

  “You’re talking out of your arse.”

  “No. You have a plan for this place. I know it. You know it. It’s all about business. You want people to come here, get help—and pay for the service. You probably have a marketing plan in place to make sure their families stay in and around the manor grounds as well—don’t you?”

  John remained quiet.

  “I fecking knew it! You just want to make money. You don’t give a rat’s arse about who it will help, or the good it will do the community.”

  John finally stepped back. “You and I both know that I was never keen on the idea of the infirmary in the basement. Yet, it had to be done. We had to get the care your mother and brother needed.” He took a long breath. “I didn’t see it as a business possibility then. I was a fool. All your work showed me that I had missed a profitable opportunity. There was a need. Now we can fill it.” John spoke with a self-righteous and egotistical air. “And you would be smart to see it as a business venture as well—that is, rather than some philanthropic cause. Altruism is for those who can afford it. You certainly can’t. You need to run it like it’s any other clinic. Albeit you need to do it carefully. You really screwed things up with this Neill situation. You do realize we’re going to have to pay off a number of people to make sure that his death is covered up in an adequate manner?”

  So John had had no intention of telling the man’s family—of course not. Everything he did was for show.

  Then again, John wasn’t wrong in some respects. They were going to have to cover up Neill’s death.

  “We can’t just bury him and forget about it,” Graham said. “If there’s a killer in our midst, we need to figure out who it is. We can’t have someone randomly murdering the people in the hospital.”

  John nearly rolled his eyes with exasperation. “First, you don’t even know if it was a murder. For all we know, the man was just depressed. Whatever happened to him, it doesn’t matter. We had a problem. It solved itself. There are better things we could be using our time for. Are you even ready for the grand opening?”

  “Don’t try to change the subject.” Graham glanced down at John’s well-manicured hands and couldn’t help but wonder how dirty they really were. “If you’re behind this, tell me now. Save me the legwork.”

  His stepfather laughed. “I already told you I didn’t do it. No reason for it.”

  “Then why are you resisting? Why do you want to cover it up? Don’t you care what happens to the rest of the people in this hospital?”

  “Look, Graham, his death is inconsequential. Let’s call it collateral damage in your soft opening. There’s just a number of other things that need our—mostly your—attention. I doubt that this type of thing will continue happening.”

  “You seem very sure of that, John.”

  His stepfather shook his head as he walked to the door and put his hand on the handle. He turned back one more time. “You are a fool if you think following this one down the rabbit hole will end with anything less than disappointment and anger. You need to look at your opportunity costs. By wasting time investigating this meaningless death, you’re giving up time that you could spend making money.”

  “Feck you and your money. I can’t let this man’s murder go unsolved. I will find out who is behind this—I have to keep those under my care safe.” Hate roiled up from his core. “If I find out that you or one of your cronies was behind this man’s death, I will make it my personal mission to bring you to the ground. I will take every last thing from you—including your precious manor.”

  Chapter Five

  THE MORGUE SMELLED of metallic refrigeration units and the tang of chemicals mixed with the stench of unfulfilled dreams. The odor was sickening, and Helena wanted nothing more than to get out. A grossing station was set up in the corner, and stainless steel doors lined the walls, while a steel autopsy table stood at the room’s center. A scale hung over it, just waiting to be filled with lumps of flesh.

  Death didn’t scare her, but this place did. There was something so industrial and dehumanizing about it, like the people destined to find their way to this place were pieces of meat that needed tending, rather than beings who, only hours or days before, had been coursing with energy and life. It reminded her of a slaughterhouse.

  “Are you okay?” Graham asked, putting his hand on her lower back. “Do you need to sit down?”

  As he spoke, her body swayed slightly.

  “Here,” he said, taking her gently by the arm and leading her to a small white plastic chair that sat at the front of the room.

  She sank into the reassuring safety of the chair.

  “You don’t have to be here. Giorgio and I can handle this.” He motioned to the guard he’d called to meet them in the morgue.

  Giorgio had once been a forensic pathologist and a member of the First Greek Raider/Paratrooper Briga
de and had graciously agreed to come along and help them go over Neill’s body to see if they could find any clues as to the cause of death. Giorgio was tall, so tall in fact that if he reached up he could have rested his palm on the ceiling with ease. He had broad shoulders and a neck that was just slightly wider than his head. It was almost as if whoever had designed him had put his head on as an afterthought.

  Helena drew in a long breath, trying to ignore the stench of the place. “I’m better now.”

  “Are you sure, miss?” Giorgio frowned as he stared at her.

  She quickly glanced away, afraid he would be able to see the guilt in her eyes.

  Helena stood up and brushed off the legs of her pants, more out of habit than need. “I’m right as rain. Now, where’s his body?”

  “The morgue attendant said he was right over here,” Giorgio said, pointing to the wall of steel doors.

  She made a show of walking toward the row of refrigerated units in the wall—like they didn’t frighten her, though as she neared she could barely make out the sound of the industrial fans over the thumping of her heartbeat in her ears.

  Giorgio walked over to box fourteen and unclicked the handle. He glanced over at her one more time before opening the door and pulling out the long table where Neill lay.

  His body was covered with a white sheet, and it reminded her of something off one of those crime shows she had often seen on the telly. She tried to tell herself it was just like the show in an attempt to distance herself from what lay under the sheet.

  If there had been music, like in the show, it would have had some kind of dirge-like beat, low toned and slow. She started to hum the tune in her head. Graham looked at her and frowned, and she promptly stopped.

  Giorgio handed them each a pair of blue nitrile gloves, and she pulled them on over her shaking hands.

  She had to be strong. Not just for herself, but for Graham as well. Yet it was hard to feel strong when there was the nagging feeling that Neill was here because of her. If only she had left him to be tended by the medics, maybe he would have still been alive. It would have been better for him to end up in the hands of the authorities and set to be deported—at least then he might not have been lying on a cold table in a morgue.