"Harold?"
"Harold's my nephew, he lives with me."
Caroline followed her through to the large kitchen which smelled of good cooking mixed in with another, less pleasant smell she couldn't discern, until she saw several cats eyeing her from various corners the rooms they passed. In the living room, lace doilies rested like crocheted shellfish on the arms and backs of sofas and chairs, reminding her of the parlour of her childhood.
Mrs. Bannister walked ahead of her, her ample bottom waddling unevenly beneath the navy housedress, imprinted with small white sailboats.
There'd been kindness in her face, and her hair was the color of the leaves on the maple trees they'd passed on her way here. Caroline felt much of the earlier tension leaving her.
In the big, cluttered kitchen, Mrs. Bannister motioned her to a chair at the large square table covered with a yellow and white-checked oilcloth.
Steam escaped the pot cover from the pot that sat on the cast iron stove, the source of the good smell.
At the landlady's invitation, Caroline sat down on one of the chairs, held her purse in her lap, and watched her bustle about tending to this and that.
"Did you hurt your knee scrubbing floors?" Caroline asked tentatively.
"What?" The landlady turned a puzzled look at her, then she chuckled as she took down two cups and saucers from the cupboard. "No, dear, that's not what happened to me?"
"Oh. I got water on the knee a couple of years ago from scrubbing floors at the hospital," Caroline said. She extended her right leg to show her. "They had to bandage it up and then they put me to work in the kitchen. I liked it a lot better."
"Ah. Well, I'm glad. No, I fell on the ice last year and broke my hip. Right at the bottom of the steps, wasn't watching what I was doing. Thinking about something else, wouldn't you know, instead of paying attention to what I was doing. Feet went out from under me and I landed bad. If someone had had a camera at the time they might have made a pretty penny on that picture."
Brown crockery Teapot in hand, a white daisy painted on its side, Mrs. Bannister hobbled to the table.
"Hurt like the dickens," she said, pouring the tea into the cups. "They're supposed to replace the hip, but I'm thinking I might just not bother. This one will probably last as long as I do." She gave a big horse-laugh at this, and Caroline dared to smile.
"You walk fast," Caroline blurted, too loudly, startling both herself and the orange cat who leapt from the windowsill, where a moment ago it had been curled up asleep. Now it looked up at her with disdain. She didn't blame the poor animal for being annoyed. Her voice had boomed in her own ears and apparently in the landlady's, too, from her expression, though it melted quickly into her easy smile.
Doctor Rosen said she should always speak up, but she would have to be careful about that, because you could speak up too much and frighten people. And animals. Make everyone think you were crazy.
"Not so bad," the landlady said, returning the teapot to the stove and sitting across from Caroline, acting as if her new tenant had spoken in a perfectly normal way. "Old legs still get me where I'm going. What's the matter, Sally?" she asked of the cat who had cautiously bounded back up onto the windowsill, but was keeping a wary eye on Caroline.
"I think I frightened her."
"Oh, posh, Sally's just shy of strangers. Aren't you, Sally. She'll be fine when she gets to know you better. So what was I saying? Oh, yes, I've usually got eight roomers in all. The bathroom's at the end of the hallway, same on all three floors, like I said. We're generally filled up, but the tenants do change from time to time. The room across from yours has been empty for quite awhile." She was silent for a few seconds, sipped her tea. Then, "Girl that used to live there was murdered. It was all the news this morning. Terrible thing." She shook her orangy mop of hair for emphasis, and went on. "People come and go. Everyone minds their own business. Don't allow no funny business, of course, you understand. This ain't that sort of place, so you don't have to worry your head about that."
"Oh, I wasn't."
She envisioned the milling crowd the taxi driver had driven past, police cars in the street, yellow crime tape stretched across the alley.
"Well, no need if you was. Got one young fellow on the top floor teaches piano, so I'm hoping the noise don't bother you too much. No one's complained though some of those students ain't got much talent, God bless 'em."
For the next half hour Mrs. Bannister rambled on while Caroline listened, speaking only when asked a direct question and then in careful modulation.
"I'm used to noise," Caroline said when the landlady brought up the subject of the piano player again. The woman's friendly chatter was pleasant to listen to and Caroline felt lulled by it. Sort of like being in the hospital's kitchen, except that this woman was actually talking to her, not over and around her.
"Of course you're used to noise, dear, in that place." She stopped abruptly, looking concerned that she might have offended her new tenant. "I'm sorry…"
"Oh, no. I didn't mean that. I meant Mrs. Green at Bayshore. She likes to play the piano in the big hall. She's not very good but it's not totally her fault. The piano's out of tune. Been that way forever. I like the sound of it anyway though."
"Oh. Well, Mr. Denton's piano is electronic. One of them Yamaha keyboards, so I guess it's not a problem for him. Sometimes if the student is very bad, he'll even turn down the volume a little and that's a mercy. Since you're a fan of the piano, maybe you'd like to meet Mr. Denton. His first student isn't due for…" She glanced at the cat-clock on the wall. "Well, it won't be un…"
"Oh, no, thank you," Caroline said, stricken at the thought of meeting yet another stranger.
The landlady shrugged. "Sure, honey. Whatever you like. I keep forgetting what a change this must be for you. By the way, in case I forget, there's a phone out in the hallway if you need to make a call. I don't suppose you'll get too many will you? With this hip, you understand, it's a hassle for me to call people to the phone. Though I don't mind if it's important. Of course, you can always get your own private phone installed in your room if you want to pay the extra."
"No, it's okay. I wouldn't know anyone to call."
The landlady smiled at her, then got a bowl down from the cupboard and set it in front of her. "You'll have some of my delicious soup before I show you your room." The simmering meaty smell rendered Caroline helpless to refuse.
"Nothing like a hot bowl of soup to keep body and spirit together," the woman said as she ladled out the soup, thick with chunky vegetables, into Caroline's bowl. "This is Harold's favorite."
Caroline noticed how the landlady beamed whenever she mentioned her nephew, and thought how lucky he was to have someone who cared so much about him.
"It's very good," she said of the soup, consciously trying not to eat too fast despite her enormous hunger. "I don't blame him...Harold."
"Harold works at Big Bakery," she said, returning the pot to the stove, her face flushed from the heat. She set out two shamrock rolls and butter on a plate, then sat back down slowly, as if the effort caused her pain. "That's the name of it, but it really is pretty big, supplies the entire city with its bread and sweets. It's right across the street from Frank's Restaurant where you'll be working a week from today. Don't look so surprised, dear. I know everything about you, you see. It's going to be a whole new life for you here, Caroline. I think we're all going to get along just fine. I supply all linens and towels, fresh clean every Tuesday. For everything else, tenants are on their own. There's a Laundromat just up the street. But I do know this is all new to you, dear, so if there's anything you need, or you have any questions, you just knock on my door. Not too early, though, mind you." She laughed. "You want some jelly for that roll?"
"No, thank you. It's very good with the butter." Finishing the soup down to the last spoonful of broth, the roll to the last crumb, a grateful Caroline dabbed at her mouth with a napkin, and thanked the landlady. She couldn't remember when she'd eaten a
nything so good.
She suddenly remembered the rent cheque in her bag, already made out. Nurse Addison had shown her how.
Barely glancing at it, the landlady nodded and set it on the refrigerator. Then she got two brass keys from atop the counter and placed them in Caroline's hand. "This is the one for the front door," she said of the longer key. "The other one is the key to your room. You might want to put them on a key-ring so you don't lose them. We wouldn't want them to fall into the wrong hands, especially with a killer on the loose."
At the note of warning, Caroline heard the cab driver's ominous words: "…they both had dark hair and blue eyes. Like you, Miss."
***
The man walked past the alley again. At the corner, he turned and came back, like a moth to the flame. There was little to see in the aftermath of his handiwork, but the jackals were still hanging around, hungry for scraps of whatever juicy information they could get.
No one paid him any mind. Not even the woman clutching a camera who had pushed past him, muttering 'scuse me' on her way to the front of the dwindling crowd, leaving a flowery scent in her wake. What would she say if she knew he was the one the cops were looking for? He smiled inwardly.
Not that he had meant for things to turn out the way they did. He'd just wanted to talk to her, that was all. He wasn't the monster the papers said he was. He was a good person, a victim himself. Why couldn't she understand? It was her own fault she was lying on a stainless steel slab in the morgue right now.
But choosing her as the one who could make things right, was his mistake. Just like the girl before her was a mistake.
He would have to be more careful, look deeper into his selections before he revealed himself. Of course you couldn't always tell about a person until you got to spend time with them, and found out what they were really like.
Cruising a bar had been a dumb idea. His perfect woman wasn't likely to be hanging out in bars, was she? Though the girl in the bar had been beautiful to look at, he hadn't been mistaken about that. It was only when he had tried to talk to her that her ugliness had spewed out like vomit from that lovely mouth, contaminating the good intentions that had been in his heart.
The bitch deserved what she got.
A cop with lazy, black eyes moved through the crowd, telling people to go back to their homes. "Nothing more to see here, folks."
He moved on.
Five
Caroline followed the landlady upstairs and stood behind her as she opened the door to what was to be her room from now on. No need to share it with anyone. Though she could have. It was much larger than the room she and Ella had shared at Bayshore. A big, square room with brown linoleum on the floor, the walls painted a cream color half way up, and blue flowered wallpaper to the ceiling. It was a nice room. She could smell the new paint smell. Had Mrs. Bannister had it painted just for her?
Lace curtains hung on a tall window overlooking the street below. She remembered there'd been similar curtains in her parents' living room windows. She could still feel their starchy texture in her hand.
"Well, go on in, dear, make yourself to home," the landlady said with a smile. Inside, she gestured to the beige sofa flush against one wall. "This pulls out into a decent sized bed. The closet's small but more than big enough to accommodate what you got in your suitcase." She chuckled softly, opening the closet door so Caroline could look for herself. Wire hangers dangled along the bar. There was a shelf above it, on which were folded sheets and a blue blanket.
"It's fine, thank you. Yes, more than big enough."
"Sheets, pillow cases and a blanket on the top shelf," she said unnecessarily, before closing the closet door. "Well, I'll leave you to get settled. Like I said, Harold will bring up your suitcase when he gets home from work."
"Please tell him thank you."
"You can tell him yourself when you see him. I expect he'll knock at your door."
And then she was gone. Out of old habit, Caroline found herself listening for the turning of the key in the lock. But there was only the soft, uneven step of the landlady's feet as she descended the stairs.
Caroline eased the door open, looked out into the deserted hallway, her eye deliberately skipping past the door across the hall, and closed it again. She liked it that she could bolt her door from the inside.
You are the keeper of the key now, she told herself. Not the only one with a key, but it was enough. And even that fact didn't seem quite real.
There was only silence outside her door now. The landlady had gone inside her own flat.
As quietly as possible, lest someone realize she was a patient and needed to be locked up, Caroline slowly slid the bolt home, shutting herself in, and others out. Then she went to sit down on the sofa, folded her hands in her lap like a patient child and looked about her. Her own private place. No Ella Gaudet knitting imaginary clothes with her imaginary knitting needles for grandchildren who never came to visit.
Except for a quick visit to the facilities at the end of the hallway, trips taken while looking neither left nor right, ducking back into her room like a thief in the night, Caroline remained in her room for the rest of that day.
Once, returning from the washroom, she saw her suitcase outside the door and brought it inside and unpacked it, hanging her few items of clothing on the wire hangers. She put away her blouses, stockings and underclothes, in a dresser drawer.
For long periods of time, she sat on the sofa and tried to orient herself to her new life. Sometimes she wandered to the long window—a window without bars—and looked out through the part in the lace curtains, at people walking along the sidewalk. At the cars passing by. She had a flash of herself looking out of the window at Bayshore, at these houses, these people, of which she was now a part.
With the room still bright with daylight, she was able to hold her demons at bay and all things seemed possible. The doubt and fear did not begin to steal over her until the sun went down and shadows crept across the brown tiled floor. But fear can only hold you in its grip for so long, as it had held Caroline, and after awhile the tentacles loosened and Caroline rose from the sofa and opened it to its full double-bed size and made it up, taking down the extra warm blanket from the closet shelf. Changing into her long, white nightgown, she climbed between the cool sheets.
As tired as she was, in both mind and body, she lay wide-eyed in a bed that felt like a raft in a huge ocean, the sheets drawn up to her chin. As she stared at the ceiling her eye traced the stain that the longer she looked at it, the more it took on the shape of a menacing dog. Mercifully, as darkness deepened outside her window, its edges blurred becoming one with the rest of ceiling.
She wasn't in complete darkness, however, owing to the light from the utility pole out on the street, which sent its pale light into her room. She had imagined it would be a great relief not to have to share a room with Ella Gaudet, but right now she would have gladly welcomed the sound of Ella's snores emanating from her narrow bed across the room. Even her occasional ravings in the night would have offered comfort.
She hadn't really minded that Ella didn't talk, and that she spent much of her days knitting with her invisible needles, content within herself, needing nothing more from the world. She had not thought she would miss Ella, but here alone in this big, shadowy room, she learned she was quite wrong about that.
Here there were no screams in the night, no wailing or mad bursts of laughter traveling down corridors, finding her. But she had known their source and understood that these were lost people whose minds had simply turned on them. Here, the smallest sound above her head, or on the stairs outside her door, seemed amplified, threatening. Every creak and moan of the building settling. Every car that passed by down on the street seemed so loud, and when it began to rain their tires made a hissing sound on the pavement, as if a million snakes had been let loose.
The rain tapping at the window was almost pleasant at first, but now it took on a frenzied rattling sound as though someone was want
ing in.
Slipping out of bed, she padded across the cool floor and checked that the window was still locked, even while knowing she was thinking nonsense thoughts. It was locked. Anyway, who could climb up here? The branches on the naked tree outside her window did not look strong enough to hold one of the landlady's cats.
She checked the door. Locked. Now she was rummaging in her purse to be sure her keys were still there, where she had put them. That she hadn't dreamed this whole day. A part of her was still listening for someone walking the hallway, jangling a ring of keys, like a taunt.
The quiet was something to get used to. Strangely enough, the jangling of those keys might have made her feel safer. Taken care of.
But only children should need to be taken care of, she chastened herself. Or the infirm. I am neither. I am a woman. A healthy woman with a future ahead of me, she thought, mentally parroting Doctor Rosen's words of encouragement. I can pay my own way in the world and come and go as I choose.
Night Corridor Page 3