Sleepless Nights

by Pierre C. Arseneault

  Victor walked into the room and pulled a chair from a small table in the room and sat down facing Richard. “I overheard the nurses talking about you after breakfast this morning. How you used to be a priest but didn’t believe in God anymore.”

  “I suppose I shouldn’t have told Maureen that part.” Richard looked down at his feet in shame as he continued. “But I’ve never been one to lie.”

  “Is it true that you don’t believe in God anymore?” asked Victor.

  Richard looked Victor in the eyes and spoke. “I do have days when I think it would be easier if I still believed. But I also can’t lie to myself either. I have seen too much sin in my lifetime. No man is perfect and so according to God we would all go to Hell now wouldn’t we. All of us!”

  Victor looked Richard in the eyes as he spoke with conviction. “God is not religion. God is not the Bible. I know they teach you different when you become a man of the cloth but that is not it.”

  “Do you believe in God?” asked Richard.

  “God does exist, but not like most men think he does,” replied Victor.

  “I see a crucifix under that shirt of yours. How can you say that and wear a symbol of religion like that?”

  “This,” said Victor as he fished out a simple leather string from his shirt exposing a golden pendant of Jesus on the Cross. “I too have been studying religions, Father. And Jesus, the Son of God, really did walk the earth. I can tell you that for certain. But again, he was not the saint we all believe him to be. But he really was crucified even though it had nothing to do with the sins of man.”

  “I know many scholars of religion that would argue that fact,” replied Richard.

  “As do I, trust me!” said Victor as he got up and put the chair back in its original place at the small table. “Well, I’m getting very tired and need to go get some sleep.”

  “It was nice talking with you, Victor,” said Richard reaching for his book.

  With his back turned to Richard, Victor paused and asked “I have one more question for an ex-priest. If I may be so bold as to ask this question in hopes to get an honest answer.”

  Richard sat book in hand. “I’m an honest man, Victor. What do you want to know?”

  “It’s about confessions. Now that you are no longer a man of the cloth, are you still bound to your oaths of secrecy, or have you cast those aside as well?”

  “I am an honest man, Victor. But I do still feel bound by the trust placed in me by those who confided in me. Those are things I will take to my grave, God or no God.”

  Satisfied with that answer, Victor left the room without saying another word.

  Richard sat quietly for a moment as he recalled the beginning of their conversation. Victor had not explained how he knew about his past. How could he have known these things? He had told no one at Sleepy Meadows about the details that Victor knew about him. He would have to speak to Victor again. But only later as for now he wanted to know what happened next as he cracked open his book yet again.

  12

  The sound the man’s shoes made on the old cobblestone street echoed against the stone buildings on this otherwise quiet afternoon. A feeling of eerie silence swept over the man as he noticed the place was devoid of any signs of life. A strange thing he thought, especially for such a beautiful sunny, summer’s day in the streets of London. The lone walker paused as he looked up and down the seemingly abandoned streets. He pulled out a silken handkerchief, wiping the sweat from his brow as he adjusted his bowler hat.

  A familiar sound came from behind him. A wagon pulled by a single horse suddenly appeared, gliding past him. No driver sat on the wagon. Odd, thought the man. At that moment he heard a sound from above. A quick glance in that direction reveals nothing. Then a sound behind hind now causes the hair to rise on his neck at full attention. But in the blink of an eye the blue sky and sun were gone, the sky now dark and full of stars. He felt a sudden chill in the air as his breath appeared before him in a mist. Before he could form a rational thought in his head, he heard the sound again from above. He turned, looking up towards the rooftop of the stone building he stood next to only to see a shadow of a man hurtling through the air towards him.

  13

  At that moment, a fully clothed Victor awoke, sitting up in his bed. He rubbed a cold hand on his neck for a moment, looking about the room. His thick curtains made the room a sombre blend of shadows for the middle of a sunny fall day.

  “Are you alright?” A woman’s voice spoke from the doorway.

  “Yes, yes I am. Just a bad dream is all,” replied Victor as he lay down again, turning on his side. Peggy stood at the door for a moment, watching. She was waiting for Victor to maybe stop breathing or show signs of a heart attack. When she heard snoring, she calmed herself and walked away.

  14

  The first thing Peggy saw as she made her way into Richard’s room was his book laying on the floor by a slipper covered foot. The first time she had seen this, panic had welled up over her that very instant. She had thought her worst fears had finally come true. In her short time working at Sleepy Meadows, her fear was finding one of her aging resident’s lifeless body. The first time she’d seen it she had dropped the tray of medications, scattering an array of multicoloured pills all over the floor. Today she walked in casually, placing the tray of medications on the small table in the room. She proceeded to pick up the book while looking at the cover. A battered copy of I, Robot by Isaac Asimov in her hand made her wonder why a man of God would read such science fiction.

  “It’s a really good book,” said Richard as he wiped drool from his chin.

  “You like this stuff?” she asked as she fetched Richard’s medications.

  “There are so many books I never read while I was in the priesthood.”

  With a smile she handed him his medication. Richard swallowed the pills, washing them down with a cup of water.

  “How’s Agnes today?” asked Richard. “I didn’t see her at breakfast this morning.”

  Peggy picked up her tray and turned to face Richard. “She isn’t well. I don’t understand it because she has had so many good days lately and her appetite had improved too.”

  “That’s a shame. Is she still asking for Lenard?” asked a concerned Richard.

  “She’s completely lost. Damn I hate that Darcy! He says to me this morning; ‘Agnes’s cheese finally slid completely off her cracker.’” Peggy frowned showing her disgust. She looked down at the tray with a look of sadness as she continued. “She’s got bad bruises. Darcy says she fell yesterday when he went to get her.”

  Richard’s shoulders slumped low as if discouraged. He fiddled with his book before looking up at Peggy. “How long has Victor been living here at Sleepy Meadows?”

  Peggy, while still holding her tray in front of her replied. “A couple of years, maybe more. Why?”

  “It’s just something he said to me, that’s all. My mind isn’t as sharp as it used to be you know.”

  Peggy smiled and shot a quick glance at the book in his hand saying. “Well it’s sharper than mine if you understand that kinda science fiction.”

  Richard smiled as she walked out of the room. He took a moment to reflect on their conversation before opening his well used book. Thinking about Agnes and how much he liked her. He felt bad that it had come to this but this is what it had to be he thought. Setting his bookmark down on his lap, he opened the book and let Isaac Asimov take him to another time.

  15

  Victor sat quietly in his room fingering his rosary when he heard the sound of shuffling feet at his doorway. Without looking, he knew who stood in his doorway.

  “Hello, Father Richard. What are you doing up at this hour?” asked Victor.

  “I thought you didn’t believe in religion?” asked the ex-priest.

  Victor paused, looking at the beads in his hand. “
I don’t. But they bring me comfort,” replied Victor as he laid the light brown wooden beads in his lap.

  Standing at the door with his hands in the pockets of his robe, Richard spoke. “I have been struggling for the last few days, trying to understand what you said to me. How you knew about the time I got run over by that drunk driver and nearly died.”

  “Father Blanchard. The drunken priest who ran you over and never even noticed,” said Victor as he watched Richard’s face grow pale. “You had a punctured lung, two broken legs and you were bleeding internally. You should have died that day.”

  “I know,” said Richard. “Everybody always told me it was a miracle that I survived. The only part I remember is having the worst nightmares of my life during the weeks I spent in and out of consciousness.”

  Victor gestured for Richard to come in. He pointed towards a chair by the small table. “You also had severe head trauma as well.”

  “I was in the hospital for months. Give or take, I can’t really remember how long it was,” said Richard as he sat in the wooden chair by the table.

  “One thing I do remember is an orderly. A man whom, now that I think of it, reminds me of you. My memory of that time is a bit hazy but you do look very much like him. Was he your father perhaps?” asked the ex-priest.

  “What do you remember about him?” asked Victor.

  “I remember that he visited me often. Especially after he learned that I was a priest. He would sit with me and talk to me about God. I don’t remember much about it because I was still in pretty bad shape and very heavily medicated.”

  “Anything else?” asked Victor.

  “The memories are really very fuzzy. I remember pieces but I know he visited often. I remember he would talk to me. I remember the day that I became lucid; he asked me if I would hear his confession.”

  “You told me no. You said you didn’t feel well enough yet to hear it even though you already had,” said Victor.

  “I don’t understand?” replied a confused Richard.

  “I would talk to you when you were unconscious. Tell you things.”

  “That was forty years ago. I have no memory of that,” said a confused Richard.

  “Thirty-seven years ago to be precise,” replied Victor.

  “I’m pretty sure I would remember you.”

  “You knew me as Patrick Dubois,” replied Victor.

  “Patrick?” replied Richard with a slight French accent in the pronunciation.

  “Yes. But I am Victor now.”

  “I don’t understand,” replied the perplexed former priest.

  “Can I count on you to keep my secret, Father?”

  Richard just stared on in confusion as if Victor had just spoken a foreign language. Both men remained silent for a moment until the former priest broke the silence first.

  “I don’t remember much about Patrick. I do remember that he was not a young man thirty-nine years ago.”

  “Thirty-seven. Thirty-seven years ago,” said Victor. “And I’ve never forgotten you.”

  “Thirty-seven years ago I was in my early forties and Patrick was an old man.”

  “Yes I was. Quite old.” Victor smiled as he picked up the rosary from his lap and ran it through his fingers. “Quite old indeed.”

  “How can that be?” asked Richard.

  “Did you hear about Agnes?” asked Victor.

  “Yes. Yes I have. Peggy told me she is not doing well.”

  “I don’t think she has more than a day or two left. Sad really, but she’ll have a good day tomorrow,” said Victor as he got up from his chair. Looking down at the still seated Richard. “Will you keep my secret like I asked?”

  “Yes. Yes of course,” replied Richard as he struggled to get up from the wooden chair. “Do you know about Agnes’s bruises?”

  Victor paused for a moment, fingered the rosary in his hand, turned his back to Richard and spoke. “Yes. Yes I do. She is quite lost and has been rather difficult the last few days. She must have stumbled trying to get out of bed again. Maybe even fell.”

  “Most likely,” added Richard as he fixed his slipper and made his way out.

  Victor turned on the light in his bathroom as he watched the fallen priest walk out of sight. “She’ll have a good day tomorrow. She deserves that much.”

  16

  Lying in her bed, Agnes opened her eyes and saw only darkness surrounding her. Her mind in a fog, she was unable to tell where she was and that began to frighten her. Shivers ran down her spine when she felt a presence in the room with her. In this complete lack of light she could only suspect it to be the mysterious silhouette of a man. An unidentified stranger that had repeatedly visited her but she had never seen. Holding her breath, she listened carefully for anything that would confirm her suspicions. In that moment, the cobwebs smothering her thoughts seemed to fade away. She clutched at her blankets pulling them towards her chin. Even though her blankets were thick she felt a hand come to rest on her thigh. A sudden calming feeling of familiarity washed over her. Somehow she knew her mysterious visitor had returned. Her consciousness swooned about her and soon, sweat beaded on her brow and upper lip. Her chill now gone, the dizzying darkness swirled around her for a moment until her mind grew clear again.

  “Lenard!” shouting as she awoke from her dream. Her eyes adjusting to her dimly lit room of the Sleepy Meadows residence to see a silhouette standing by her bed.

  17

  “It’s Victor, not Lenard,” the man said.

  “I know that you old fool. Lenard’s been dead for a very long time now,” said the bright and alert silver-haired old lady. “I was dreaming but I can’t remember much about it.”

  “I just wanted to make sure you’re ok. Are you?” asked Victor as he reached for a tray that rested on the nightstand.

  “Yes, yes. I’m fine. Hungry, but fine,” said Agnes as she struggled to sit up. “When did I get so damned old?” she asked impatiently struggling to sit up.

  Victor helped her prop herself up and placed some pillows behind her. He watched her sink in them as if tired out from the effort it took to sit up. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he placed the tray in front of Agnes. “I brought you some of those soft raisin cookies you like and some tea,” he said with a smile.

  The old woman smiled as her eyes widened. “Oh thank you. Lenard would have liked you, Victor. You’re such a kind man.”

  Victor smiled as he watched her savour each bite. With a cookie in each hand, chewing with glee as she hungrily looked at the four other cookies in the plate before her. Agnes would have a good day just as Victor predicted earlier that night. A long conversation followed about Lenard and how they never had children because it was God’s will. How instead, she had spent most of her life teaching young children and loved every moment of it. Soon an hour had passed before caregiver Amanda had found the pair enthralled in conversation.

  Walking in with an arm-full of linens, Amanda spoke. “Victor, you little devil. You’re keeping our sweet Agnes awake. She needs her rest more than you.”

  A bright eyed Agnes snapped back with a sly grin. “Oh shush, girl. I haven’t had this much fun chatting up a storm in a lonnnng time.”

  Amanda froze in her tracks as parts of the linen slipped from her grasp and dangled towards the floor.

  “It’s ok, Agnes. I have a few things to do anyway. I will see you at breakfast,” said Victor. As he exited the room he could hear the women talking behind him. He could hear Agnes ask Amanda if she had ever told her about her lovely, late husband Lenard.

  18

  Darcy walked into the staffroom only to be greeted by the sound of laughter. After a rotten morning he was thinking his mood couldn’t possibly get any worse only to be proven wrong as he arrived for his shift.

  Amanda’s arms were flailing about wildly as she spoke to Jenna. “I know.
I couldn’t believe my ears at first!”

  Opening his locker, Darcy spoke. “What are you so freaked out about?”

  Jenna replied. “Agnes. She is having a good day today. A very good day!”

  “Really?” asked Darcy.

  “I know. Jenna didn’t believe me either until she saw for herself.”

  “Yeah, well don’t get too excited like the last time because it won’t last,” said a sour Darcy while changing his shoes.

  “You asshole! You always have to ruin things don’t you,” said Amanda as she slammed her locker shut and stormed out.

  “What?” Darcy said while pretending as if he didn’t know why she was upset.

  “Victor asked if you could come by his room later to help fix his curtain rod,” said Amanda.

  “Yeah, whatever,” replied Darcy. “If I have time.”

  19

  Darcy, is a tall dark mid-thirties man, whom after years of working at Sleepy Meadows, was well known by all. There are many kind-hearted employees and then there are those few who are just doing their job. Darcy is one of the caregivers that most residence know to tread lightly around. Quick tempered, he is a very impatient man, often getting angry with the residents when they don’t comply. Many grew to fear his bouts of aggression. Unless you spoke to the ones who are subjected to illnesses that affected the memory. In those cases, they often forgot that Darcy was an impatient man and sometimes were left with reminders in the form of bruises. Sadly many of those reminders would soon be forgotten where they came from. Many of the staff suspected he was sometimes abusive and would not have tolerated it if they knew the truth. Nobody had ever caught him in the act, and the residents were too afraid to speak up. Agnes’s latest set of bruises on her dark brown skin were not a result of her clumsy weakened self. They were a result of her feeble attempts to resist Darcy’s efforts to take her to her bath time. But one resident knew this. One of the few who was still very keen of mind, even though he was older than any of the other residents by a great many decades.