by Angie Fox
“My patients deserve to have dignity,” she stated, “so I tie them to their beds to keep order and calm.” She checked my bonds. “My patients deserve to be clearheaded and thoughtful,” she added. “Shock therapy gives them relief from their symptoms.”
“Tom,” I managed, lips tingling. It came out more like a groan, but she understood.
“Yes,” she said, adjusting the light so it glared back into my eyes. “He needed a good jolt. Too bad his heart couldn’t take it.”
She’d seared the life right out of him.
“And now he’s gone,” she added, with a flick of the wrist. “To the light. And he’ll never be allowed back inside this place again.” She looked me over. “Soon you can join him. Or you can stay here. Either way, you won’t be telling anybody about this.” The corner of her lip curled.
“Don’t worry.” She turned and lifted a small steel hammer from the cart next to her. “You won’t remember any of this.”
I tried to scream, but it came out like a gurgle, and she full-out smiled.
“Drills are more modern,” she said as if we were having a polite conversation, as if she wasn’t lifting an oversized steel ice pick from the table with her other hand. “But I haven’t quite got the hang of them yet.” She shook her head. “Juliet’s lobotomy was a disaster. Very embarrassing.”
She held the ice pick tightly as she closed in on me. “In any case, I find the old-fashioned method more personal. A nice little tap straight through your nasal cavity should do the trick. It won’t be my fault if it goes too deep and kills you.”
She tried to stifle a grin. “But if I do it right, you get to live. You’re not dangerous if you can’t talk or think.”
I tried to scream and failed. She chuckled.
“Cat got your tongue?” she prodded, drawing close. I felt the sharp prick of the ice-pick instrument against the soft skin on my upper lip. The ghostly metal stung me to the core.
“Wishing you hadn’t been so curious?” she teased, drawing closer to my right nostril. “Wish I hadn’t locked you in?” she taunted, taking aim.
“Stop!” A cold whoosh of air knocked the ice pick from her hand. It clattered onto the table, into my hair, the tip resting against my skull and stinging me hard.
I couldn’t move or talk, and I watched in utter shock as Mary, the drowned nurse, loomed over us, dripping filthy water.
“Leave me alone,” Nurse Claymore commanded. “I’m busy.”
The nurse cowered, but she held her ground against her boss, her soaking wet skirt slicking against my arm as she positioned herself between me and Nurse Claymore. As far as I was concerned, it was her Superwoman cape.
She drew up to her full height. “Don’t hurt her,” she warned, her voice watery, wild clumps of hair clinging to her bruised and battered skull.
Nurse Claymore backhanded her, knocking her to the floor. “That’s for interrupting me.”
I waited, praying for the drowned nurse to get back up, but she didn’t.
At least she’d created a diversion. Please let it be enough.
Because even as Nurse Claymore straightened her uniform, even as she directed a distasteful look at the cowering nurse, her ice-pick instrument seared into my hair.
It had touched me. It was still touching a part of me, which meant I had a chance.
If we could just hold out for a few minutes, it would disappear.
Maybe that was why the first dose of medicine didn’t work as Claymore had expected. Maybe I was neutralizing it with every second I lay on the table.
“I don’t understand the soft spot you have for these lunatics,” Claymore spat as the other nurse scrambled away on her hands and knees. “Your loyalty should have been to me, not to them.”
“Leave her alone!” Another voice rang out from the doorway.
A young woman stood with fists clenched. A noose dangled from her neck. She shook violently, but her gaze was steely, determined. Mr. Rink stood a little ways behind her, his expression vacant, yet grave. I could see a glimpse of the man he used to be.
Nurse Claymore chuckled. “Is this girls’ night out?” She waved a hand to the nurse on the floor. “You think you can save her?” she taunted. “I can’t kill either one of you again, but I can make your afterlives a living hell. Now go back to your stairwell,” Claymore ordered. “And you to your room, Mr. Rink. Or I may need to touch up my work.”
Mr. Rink disappeared. The girl did not.
She stood shivering, holding her ground. It had to be Loretta, Juliet’s friend, helping me. I had no idea why. She was the ghost in the mirror who’d scared my socks off earlier.
She swallowed hard. “I’ll tell.”
Claymore laughed. “Dr. Anderson didn’t believe you last time. Your own friend Juliet didn’t believe you. Why do you think anyone will care what you have to say now? You can barely make it out of the stairwell.”
“I—” Loretta raised a shaking hand to the noose at her throat. Her gaze went to the cowering woman on the floor.
“Go,” Claymore prodded, “or I’ll imprison this one in a puddle instead of a tub.”
Loretta vanished.
Claymore let out a long, ragged sigh. “You people always think you can get away with something.” She reached for the dripping woman on the floor. The drowned nurse cried out, trying to bat Claymore away as the charge nurse took hold of her form and forcibly shrank her manifestation down. “I try to be patient,” she said, grunting as she compacted her former nurse further. “I try to see it your way,” she pressed, shrinking her harder. “But then all you do is cause trouble.” She squished the poor woman down to a glowing orb of pure energy. “And I have to clean up your mess,” she said, plunking the poor ghost into a brown glass jar of swabbing alcohol. “Please learn your lesson this time,” she added, screwing the lid down tight.
Claymore smoothed her uniform. “Now,” she said, reaching for the ice pick in my hair.
Cripes. It was still there!
“Strange,” she said, turning it over in her hand. As she held it up, it was clear the tip had faded, and light shone through gaps in the middle. Yes!
She placed the instrument back on her cart. “Seems I’ll have to work faster with you,” she said, opening a drawer under the main tray, drawing out another ice-pick device, this one even longer than the last. “It hasn’t been sterilized,” she remarked, taking up the hammer once more, “but if you don’t say anything, then I won’t, either.”
I let out a yell that seared my throat.
“Dr. Anderson hates this part,” she said, concentrating her aim. “But I don’t mind it so much.”
Just when I thought all hope was lost, a huge, thickset ghost shimmered into existence behind her.
Levi!
“Leave the nice girl alone.” He gripped Claymore’s shoulder and turned her around. She stumbled, stabbing him in the shoulder. He let out a howl of pain.
“Levi,” Juliet cried, still half-transparent as she shimmered into being next to him.
While Juliet’s attention was on her injured friend, Claymore turned back to her cart. She quickly drew a needle full of a clear liquid.
“Watch out!” I tried to yell, but it came out a garble, and I watched helplessly as Claymore plunged the needle into Levi’s arm.
“Calm down,” she ordered.
He let out a roar of pain and yanked his arm away with the needle still in it, but the medicine was already doing its damage. He stumbled backward, and Juliet went with him.
“You’re fine,” Juliet insisted, even though he wasn’t. She led him to the floor, almost going down with him as she tried to keep an eye on Claymore. “What did you do with Loretta?” she demanded. “I didn’t believe her when she told me about you before. I should have. I believe her now!”
Too late.
“I’ll stop her,” Levi vowed, sitting up, barely able to hold himself upright. “You were right to get me to come.”
“You’re a freak who deser
ves to be locked up,” Claymore snapped at him. “And you.” She turned to Juliet. “I let you get away with too much because I felt sorry for you. But cross me once, and you’ll regret it forever.”
“I—” Juliet began.
A ghostly metal tray flew off a shelf near the door and struck Juliet in the back of the head. She dropped hard, next to an unmoving Levi.
Claymore sighed. “The work never ends.”
The door opened, and I heard another metal tray slide from the rack.
“Please,” Claymore barked at the intrusion. “I’m working.”
Dr. Anderson poked his head inside. “I heard a commotion,” he said, drawing back in shock at the sight of Levi and Juliet on the floor.
Claymore closed her eyes for a moment. “I’m so sorry you had to see this, Doctor. These patients were out of control. They were trying to escape.”
The doctor entered and took her by the shoulders as if to steady her. “Are you all right?”
She shook off his touch. “I’m fine. They think this—” she motioned to me “—this girl can lead them out. I told you she was trouble.” She drew a hand to her forehead. “They…attacked me.”
The doctor blinked in shock. “We need to get you more help.”
She nodded absently. “I’m fine. I can handle it.”
“No. This is too much,” he assured her. “You go take a break. I’ll settle the giant and the jilted wife back in their rooms.” He waved a hand, and both Levi and Juliet disappeared.
Now that was a powerful ghost.
“We can put off the lobotomy patient until tomorrow,” he said to Claymore.
Thank God and hallelujah.
Now if we could get the poor Nurse Mary out of the jar.
“Jar,” I managed. The sedative was wearing off. I still couldn’t hold a conversation, but maybe he could take the hint. If he could free Nurse Mary, she’d tell him everything. In fact, she was kind of my only hope at the moment because I wasn’t all that confident Nurse Claymore would put off my procedure no matter what the good doctor said.
As if she could read my mind, she picked up the ice pick once more. “I honestly don’t mind a little more work.” She drew up the hammer. “As soon as we complete the procedure, she won’t be able to speak to the dead anymore. We can regain order.”
“You truly are a saint,” Dr. Anderson said.
I bugged my eyes out at him, but he was looking at her. Admiring her.
That was it. I didn’t have anybody. Unless Frankie decided to show up, but last I’d heard, he was in the basement, dissecting my love life. Juliet and Levi had been banished to the third floor. Loretta was sulking back in the stairwell, through Claymore’s influence or her own insecurities, it hardly mattered. She wasn’t coming to save me.
And poor Nurse Mary was trapped in a jar.
“Jar…!” I managed again.
But the doctor wasn’t listening. Nobody was listening.
“I’ll let you get to work.” He turned away. He was leaving again. And as he did, he opened the door on the last person I ever expected to see.
22
Crazy Charlie stood in the doorway, eyes wild as if he were in a rage. He raised his knife, angry and out of control. He’d have scared the shorts off me if I hadn’t desperately needed someone to draw attention away from me.
Dr. Anderson took a quick step backward, out of Charlie’s reach. “What the—Charlie?” His shock turned to warmth. “I thought you escaped in 1917. We looked everywhere for you.”
Charlie moaned. His entire body shook as he stared at the doctor. His scraggly hair tangled in his eyes as he held aloft the sharp blade.
“Where on earth did you get this?” Dr. Anderson took the knife from his hand. “You’ll cut yourself.” He laid it on the counter behind him, out of reach.
Charlie stared down at his dirty hands.
Our crisis had been averted, which was really bad for me. Then I realized I was clenching my fists.
I could move my hands!
Dr. Anderson placed an arm around Charlie’s shoulders. “You’re shaking. Where have you been?”
Poor Charlie had probably been killed down in the basement. He might have been haunting his death spot or the place where he’d been buried. It was common enough with ghosts.
And if Dr. Anderson hadn’t realized he’d been here this entire time, poor Charlie could very well be another one of Nurse Claymore’s victims.
She sure didn’t appear happy to see him.
Claymore watched the entire scene unfold with a studied detachment. She clutched the lobotomizer in one hand and her hammer in the other. “Kindly restrain the patient in examination room B,” she said crisply. “I will see to him personally as soon as I’m finished here.”
Right after she swiveled that ice pick around in my brain. I swallowed hard.
Still, I had to be smart. If I was going to try to speak, I’d better be able to talk and talk fast, before Nurse Claymore hit me with another tranquilizing shot.
Luckily for me, the doctor wasn’t going anywhere. In fact, he looked at Nurse Claymore like he didn’t quite understand why she’d want to tie Charlie up in the next room.
“This man’s not a danger to himself or anyone else,” he said with Charlie at his side. “In fact, if the weather were better, I’d take him outside for a walk.” He gave Charlie an affectionate squeeze. “I’d love to hear where you went. You had us worried sick.”
Charlie looked down to his stained hospital pants and reached into the pocket. He withdrew a mangled piece of cake with a candle smashed into the icing.
“Well, now that’s all smushed,” the doctor said, holding out a hand for the ruined dessert. “Let’s throw it away and I can get you another piece.”
Charlie’s face lit up.
“No,” Nurse Claymore snapped. Both men jolted at her harsh tone. She set her instruments down hard, rattling the cart next to my bed. “Charlie Whit deserves no cake. He gets nothing.”
“Remember what I said about kindness,” the doctor pressed.
Nurse Claymore calmly folded her hands in front of her. “That patient stole your birthday cake, Doctor. He ruined the surprise, and I will not allow him to be rewarded for it.”
The doctor forced a chuckle. “That was in 1917. And I did tell him I’d bring him a piece.” He smiled at Charlie, a true, genuine smile, and Charlie’s face lit up.
He then spared a glance for his nurse. “I thought you searched everywhere. You said Charlie had been spotted in town.”
I swallowed, testing my throat. It was now or never. My lips were still numb, and my face felt like it was floating somewhere between here and east Eden. But I had to speak or forever hold my peace.
“She killed him,” I grunted out.
The words were jumbly, garbled even to my own ear. But Dr. Anderson understood.
So did Nurse Claymore. She glared at me and reached for her medicine cart. “She’s deranged.”
Dr. Anderson’s eyes filled with pity and disbelief.
“Ask Charlie!” I pleaded, but then that was ridiculous. Charlie couldn’t speak. He couldn’t tell the doctor anything.
But then he grabbed the doctor’s arm. Charlie pointed directly at Nurse Claymore and grunted. Then he nodded his head yes.
“See!” I managed. “See!” Every word was a battle.
But Charlie was doing my talking for me. Face set in a scowl, breath coming hard, he shoved an accusing finger toward the nurse.
“Wait,” Dr. Anderson said as the young man he’d been so glad to see nodded his head harshly up and down and pointed desperately at Nurse Claymore.
Claymore crossed her arms over her chest. “This is ridiculous,” she said calmly, neatly. She took a step toward Charlie, and he cowered, covering his head.
The doctor took an interest in the back of his skull. “Charlie? You’re bleeding.” He bent toward his patient and brushed through the hair at the back of his neck. “This is a deep laceration. Did
you fall?”
Charlie shook his head no. And then he made a slashing motion, imitating a strike to the head. It would be impossible to misinterpret his actions.
“She hit me too,” I warbled out before Nurse Claymore stuffed a wad of gauze into my mouth.
“Let the patient speak,” Dr. Anderson demanded.
“She’s insane,” Claymore declared.
“She sounded sane when she spoke to me earlier,” the doctor countered.
“He’s a lunatic,” Claymore deflected, pointing to the young man huddled next to the doctor.
“Charlie is schizophrenic and nonverbal, but he is hardly a lunatic.” Dr. Anderson looked at Nurse Claymore as if he were seeing her for the first time. “What is happening here, nurse?”
She drew her shoulders back. “I’m just trying to maintain order.”
Dr. Anderson patted Charlie on the shoulder, and then he walked past Nurse Claymore toward me. He reached for my gag.
Claymore inserted herself between me and the doctor. “It was an accident! He stole your cake. He ruined your birthday. I tried to subdue him, but he escaped and hid in the basement.”
“He must have been terrified,” Dr. Anderson accused. “Charlie can’t abide the dark.”
“He attacked me with the knife. I had to defend myself,” she declared.
“Then why didn’t you report it?” the doctor countered. He looked back at his patient sitting against the wall, calmly licking icing from his fingers. “Charlie has no history of violence.” He looked back at his nurse. “But you do.”
She stiffened. “That was one time. One patient. Before you even hired me here.”
He nodded. “I realize that.”
Maybe her gender hadn’t been the only reason she’d had trouble getting a doctor’s position.
“I’m the one person you can count on in this place,” she reminded him. “I’d never lie to you.”
He looked at her. “I think you just did.”
He reached past her and gently removed the gauze from my mouth. “Are you all right?” he asked me.
I nodded. My jaw ached, and my entire mouth felt like the Sahara and tasted like cotton, but considering how things could have turned out, I felt pretty good. “The jar,” I said, ten kinds of relieved when my voice came out weak, but clear. “Open the jar on the counter.”