House of the Rising Nun

by Dakota Cassidy

  He looked exhausted. Heck, we were all exhausted. We’d been here for three hours with no word from the doctors at all, but at least Lazlo was going upstairs to a room now, where there’d be a modicum of privacy.

  But it hadn’t been easy getting him there. The red tape had been extensive, and the paperwork even worse. I realize I can’t save the world, but that won’t stop me from adding “advocating better medical care for the homeless” to my list of things to do.

  You’d have thought I was attempting to rent a room for Ted Bundy for all the rigmarole I’d gone through to find Lazlo a bed. But I can be like a dog with a bone, given enough motive, and I’m not above announcing myself with my former status as a nun if it will make people listen to me. It’s a fifty-fifty proposition going in, but more often than not, folks give me an ear.

  So sue me for using the fire-and-brimstone nonsense everyone heard as a child to get my way. Nuns bring with them visions of eternal damnation and thwacks on the knuckles with a ruler, and I don’t even have to say a word. Who am I to disillusion them if it works to my advantage?

  I won’t apologize because it got Lazlo a private room upstairs where, when he awakened, he wouldn’t be surrounded by total strangers in some ward with twenty beds.

  As I stopped at the threshold of his ER room door, and peeked in on the sparse room with its single sink and white curtain pushed to the side, I winced and sent up a silent wish he’d be all right.

  Lazlo was in a medically induced coma, his face bruised and swollen, his skin red and flushed, and the doctors were only just beginning to run more tests on him.

  The only diagnosis we had so far was that his brain was swelling, and the best condition for him to be was in a coma in the hopes it would reduce the inflammation.

  But just to look at him hurt. He had a gash in the back of his head that ran the entire length of his skull, and what had likely been responsible for the brain swelling; his fingernails were torn to the quick, bloodied and bruised; and he had needle marks along his arms.

  Now, Lazlo is many things when his demons paralyze him. Paranoid, delusional, sometimes even hysterical, but he’s not a drug user. I’d bet my life on it. For the most part, he’s a real lamb who simply needs proper medical care to deal with his PTSD.

  Yet, I couldn’t think of that now. Now, all I could think of was whether he’d live long enough to get the help I was determined to see him have.

  I dropped down next to Cal in one of the hard seats just outside the room and tapped his arm. “You okay?”

  His eyes popped open and he looked up at the ceiling. His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down as he swallowed hard. “He was in awful shape, Trixie. I mean, he was just barely alive, but somehow he managed to get back to the shelter. He was looking for Higgs. He said his name. He said it over and over…” Cal stopped for a moment and gripped the arm of the chair, his voice raw. “I can’t turn it off repeat in my head, Trixie.”

  I inhaled a shuddering breath, pinching the bridge of my nose to keep from crying and keep my head on straight. “I know. I know this is so hard, Cal. You’re so good to the guys and whether they tell you or not, they really respect you. Lazlo, too. I’m sure you brought comfort to him.”

  “I saw him get on a bus to Seattle, Trixie. I know what I saw. I also know the police probably aren’t going to bother to check the CCTV at the bus station, either, because he’s just some homeless guy who’s irrational and unimportant, but I swear to you, I really thought he was going to go back to Washington to see his son Jeremy.”

  The anger in Cal’s voice was plain, and I couldn’t blame him. The system wasn’t always kind to the homeless, but they weren’t always heartless, either, and I felt like I had to tell him that.

  “When did you see him get on the bus, Cal? How long ago?”

  “Maybe a few days ago. Dang, I can’t remember exactly. But like that matters? The police won’t care,” he scoffed.

  “Tansy won’t let that happen, Cal. She’s not like most of the people you’ve dealt with. I promise. If they can get their hands on some video of that day, she’ll do it.”

  “Who would do this, Trixie? I know there’s an evil world out there filled with people who spit on the homeless, but who would do this? Why?” he asked, his question agonizing. “And this whole mess with getting him a bed? It’s why I left social work—because the system is a rotten pile of garbage. Lazlo’s a good guy, Trixie. He’s a really good guy. If there’s a God, why would He allow this to happen?”

  Closing my eyes, I prayed for an answer that didn’t come. So, I was as honest as I’ve always been when I draped an arm around his shoulders and whispered, “I don’t know, Cal, I wish I had an answer. Maybe that’s why I’m not a nun anymore—because I don’t have a handy scripture to quote that I actually believe gives a good enough explanation for why these kinds of things happen to good people.

  “This sounds about as cheesy as it gets, but it’s all I have to offer. I can only tell you that those of us who want to do good, who work in service, we somehow make up for the bad by what we do, no matter how great or small the task we complete. We carry the burden of the world’s faults, and it means we have to work harder to prove we’re just trying to do good…and it’s unfair. Quite frankly, it sucks to have to work twice as hard to help. But I’ll happily carry that burden if it helps just one person, if I can make up for some of the bad. I have to believe—no, I do believe it makes a difference.”

  He shuddered under my arm and nodded his head. “You’re right. Of course you’re right. It’s why I do what I do every day. I want to make a difference—I want to help.”

  Letting go of him, I sat back and smiled. “That’s because you’re a good guy, too, Cal. Now, in order to do some good, let’s focus, okay? Did Lazlo say anything else? Like where he’s been? Anything?”

  Cal leaned forward, placing his elbows on his knees and his face in his hands. “He was delirious, Trixie. I don’t even know if what he said was just gibberish or he was actually making sense. It sounded so crazy.”

  I gripped Cal’s arm and gave it a squeeze. “Tell me anyway, please? Even if it doesn’t make any sense. It could mean something.”

  Cal’s sigh was ragged and clearly filled with agony. “He said ‘the Organ Grinder did this’ seconds before he passed out. That can’t be true, can it, Trixie? It’s just a myth, isn’t it?”

  A cold chill of fear slithered along my arms and the hair on the back of my neck stood up. “I’m starting to question whether it’s a myth lately. The guys talked to me about it the night of the Halloween party, but I chalked it up to nonsense Madge filled their heads with. Now…I’m not so sure.”

  And that meant I had to find Madge. I needed to know her source for this Organ Grinder story. There had to be more to it than what the guys had told me. Maybe it was part truth and part tall tale, but I felt like she had her finger on the pulse of the Hawthorne Crew and I needed to get to the bottom of this either way.

  Coop came back from the cafeteria then and handed Cal a cup she stuck right under his nose. “Here, Cal. I hope this makes you feel better. It’s tea. Everyone says tea helps to calm you down, and you look like your insides are about to jump out of your eyeballs. Drink this and maybe it’ll make you calmer.”

  Despite the dire situation, I smiled. I was beginning to get the feeling Coop liked Cal a little bit more than she let on, and from the way Cal looked at her, I think the feeling is mutual.

  Cal didn’t seem to mind her unusual behavior. I don’t think he thought she was strange at all. In fact, I think he found it endearing, and I loved that kind of acceptance for her.

  He took the cup from her and gave her a half smile. “Thanks, Coop. Appreciate it.”

  She stared at him in that intent way that typically makes people feel uncomfortable and scrutinized. But not Cal; he smiled harder. “You’re welcome,” she said, and I’d swear I heard a hint of breathy girlishness in her tone.

  As I looked down the hall, I sa
w Higgs and Knuckles approaching, both with grim faces. I rose, an idea rooting in my brain.

  “Any news yet?” I asked in reference to Lazlo’s tests.

  Knuckles sighed. “Nothing yet, Trixie girl.”

  Higgs nodded in agreement, driving his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “Everything’s still the same. I’m not sure what else they’re testing for, but if I find that doctor, I’m going to find out. You can count on that.”

  My eyes went to Lazlo, so small in the ER hospital bed, it hurt my heart. “You know, those needle marks are really bothering me. Lazlo’s not a drug user. Wild theory here, but Solomon said he thought someone stabbed Griffin with a needle, Dr. Mickey was stabbed in the head by something small and sharp, and now Lazlo has needle marks on his arm. Coincidence?”

  Higgs sighed and ran a hand over the stubble on his chin. “I can’t think straight anymore, but you’re right. It’s too much of a coincidence.”

  Reaching for his hand, I enveloped it in mine. “Okay, listen. I have an idea. The guys kept saying Madge told them about the Organ Grinder in the first place, but none of us took it seriously. I don’t see how, but maybe this story she’s been telling is somehow connected to what happened to Lazlo. I need to talk to her, Higgs. I’m going to the Hawthorne.”

  “Um, no you’re not,” he almost spat, making me stop cold.

  Now this Higgs? I didn’t know this Higgs. He never spewed directions at me, let alone became cross with me.

  I blinked at him in shock. “Sorry?”

  He looked directly at me, his eyes flashing deep and dark. “I said no, you’re not.”

  Okay, listen. I think I’ve said this before. I’m not extreme feminist material. I don’t hate men. I don’t think they’re all jerks. I just think they sometimes have jerk-ish moments (who doesn’t?), and Higgs was having one right now. A big one.

  I’m an adult woman. I don’t need his permission to go to the moon if I choose to do so. I wasn’t seeing this for what it was—Higgs was tired and worried about Lazlo; he was worried there was a killer on the loose down under the Hawthorne, and I was considering going to the very place a possible killer had been, and I didn’t mention I had planned to ask Knuckles to come with me.

  I didn’t see any of that. I saw red.

  “Excuse me—” I squealed, looked up at him with furious eyes just as Coop stepped in, putting her lean body between us and a hand on my shoulder.

  “I think what Higgs means is, he doesn’t want any harm to come to you, and he’s worried for your safety with a killer on the loose. Right, Higgs?”

  He clenched his jaw tight and all but seethed his next words. “That’s right, Coop.”

  Then she looked to me, her green eyes glittering in the harsh fluorescent light. “I think the reason Trixie’s a bit perturbed is because you didn’t ask her not to go, you told her she couldn’t go, and no one owns her. Right, Trixie?”

  Mostly, that was right. Maybe I’d gone a little overboard instead of considering the source, but yes. That was right. “Way to woman-splain, Coop. Yes. That’s exactly right,” I said from clenched teeth, seething.

  She brushed her hands together. “Good. Now we’ve communicated properly like adults and we’ve used our words to do it—that’s how it’s done. Here’s what happens next. Knuckles and I will go with Trixie to see Madge. You, Higgs, will stay here with Cal to wait for news about Lazlo. Is everyone in agreement?”

  Knuckles put an arm around Coop’s shoulders. “Nice mediation, kiddo. Proud of you, and happy to go talk to Madge.”

  She gave his belly a thump and looked at Higgs and me. “Are we in agreement?”

  I know my answer sounded petty and, maybe even worse, pouty. But that didn’t stop me. “Yep,” I said as I folded my arms across my chest and fought not to follow it with a huff.

  Higgs repeated the sentiment in a duplicate manner. “Yep.”

  Coop spread her arm wide toward the ER door. “Fine. Then let’s go.”

  I held up a finger and slipped into Lazlo’s room to press a kiss to his temple, my throat tight as I took in all the machines and wires.

  “I promise I’ll do whatever it takes to find out what happened to you, Lazlo. You just get better, okay?” With one last press of my hand to his shoulder, I had to look away or burst into tears.

  Making my way back out to the hall, I looked anywhere Higgs wasn’t and joined Coop and Knuckles. As we began to head toward the ER doors, I asked, “Perturbed. New word of the day?”

  Coop nodded as we swished through the automatic doors and away from the stench of death. “Yes. I thought it sounded less angry than the word mad.”

  I smiled at her, pulling up the hood of my jacket. “Good thinking.”

  It was pouring out, so we had to make a break for the car, but I sent up another prayer to the universe we’d be able to find Madge and she’d have something helpful to tell us.

  Because right now, we needed help.

  Chapter 17

  “Madge?” I whisper-yelled into the night. Gosh, it was dark under the Hawthorne this late at night. I kept forgetting how dark. With the exception of the barrel the folks who camped here had lit up for warmth, it was really difficult to see much, and it didn’t help that the night was foggy.

  “Stay close,” Knuckles said, holding our hands as we moved toward the center of the sleeping bags and makeshift tents.

  I loved that he was so worried about protecting us, and I loved that Coop let him protect us even though she needed him about as much as The Rock needed a better workout program.

  Which is sort of the same thing Higgs was doing back at the hospital, Trixie—protecting you.

  Okay, okay. I jumped the gun. I’d fix it later. Swear.

  As the rain pitter-pattered on the bridge above and the light traffic sped into the night, I worried she might have chosen not to set up camp here tonight. Madge doesn’t do a lot of moving around, but unlike some, she’s not very particular about what spot she settles into in order to sleep.

  Madge isn’t very hard to spot, either, with her Hello Kitty purse and purple boa, but still, I couldn’t see her.

  I continued to peer at the rows of people, trying not to disturb them, when I heard Coop whisper, “There she is.”

  I followed her finger to find Madge propped up against the concrete piling, an almost empty bottle of blackberry brandy beside her. She was huddled under her favorite coat, her purple boa wrapped around her neck, the feathers rising and falling to the beat of her snoring.

  That she had brandy with her wasn’t a good sign. Having a conversation with drunk Madge is difficult at best. I could only hope she’d found this bottle in the liquor store dumpster and there hadn’t been much left in it when she got her hands on it. Otherwise, our conversation was going to be quite an adventure.

  I sat on my haunches and noticed she had a new pair of slippers, warmer than her open-toed princess slippers from the summer, thankfully.

  Reaching out a hand, I gently touched her arm. “Madge? Madge, it’s Trixie. Wake up.”

  She rolled her head from side to side, flicking her tongue over her toothless gums. “Come back tomorrow. I’m closed for business,” she muttered.

  “Madge! It’s Trixie, and it’s really important you wake up. Solomon, Lazlo, and Griffin need your help!”

  Now, as a point of interest, Madge is a bit of a flirt. Her heart mostly belongs to Solomon, but she’s not above taking compliments from the other men under the bridge, so I knew that would get her attention.

  Her eyes instantly popped open, gray and wide. She brushed at her wiry black and silver hair, poking out beneath her pink tasseled hat as she pushed herself upward from a slouch.

  “What’s happened to my Saulie, Fancy Lady?” That’s Madge’s nickname for me since the day we met. I’m not sure how I constitute fancy, but I’ll take any form of communication I can get.

  “Someone took Griffin, Madge. From right here under the Hawthorne—just yesterday. Solomon saw
it happen, and now Lazlo’s in the hospital in really bad shape. He’s in a coma, Madge. They don’t know if he’s going to live, and I need your help.”

  A tear glistened at the corner of her eye. “No. Nope, nope, nopety-nope!” she cried, and thankfully, her words weren’t so slurred I could deem her inebriated.

  Coop knelt next to her, too, and nodded. “Yes, Madge With No House. Somebody took them, and somebody killed Dr. Mickey, too. We need your help. Please help us.”

  Now she gasped, her eyes wide with horror. “Dr. Mickey?” she squeaked, her voice raspy. “I loved Dr. Mickey. I ain’t got no teeth to clean, but he showed me how to rinse my mouth real good so my gums’d stay healthy. See?” she asked as she opened her mouth wide to show us her gums.

  I smiled at her and inhaled to stay calm and keep from shaking her to get some answers. “Everyone loved Dr. Mickey, Madge. That’s why we have to find out what happened to him, and who hurt Lazlo.”

  She tightened her grip around her Hello Kitty purse. “I like Lazlo. He’s cute, but he’s always talkin’ about that lady Hazel. Puts a girl off, ya know?”

  I patted her leg in sympathy. “I do know, but it doesn’t put you off enough to want him dead, right, Madge? Lazlo’s a good guy, don’t you think? So is Griffin.”

  “So whaddya want from me? And who’s that looker over there?” she asked, squinting into the darkness at Knuckles, who leaned against a piling, his hands in his pockets.

  “Knuckles is the name, ma’am.” He approached and extended a hand to her, which Madge promptly grabbed on to and wouldn’t let go. So Knuckles did the only thing he could. He hauled her upward and, naturally, Madge let herself fall into him.

  She reached a hand up and traced the line of his bearded jaw. “Ain’t you cute?” she said with a girlish giggle.

  Surprisingly, Coop was in “not in the mood to mess around” mode. She tapped Madge on the shoulder, her eyes angry and her face pinched. “Madge With No House, we don’t have time to play games tonight. A man is very ill, one is missing, and one is dead. Please answer our questions so we can help them.”