The Ninth Floor

by Liz Schulte

  I tried to push the trickle of fear aside because I knew it was dumb, but it stubbornly settled in my center. I racked my brain for any signs of illness, and Jack started to laugh.

  “Ryan, you don’t seriously believe this stuff?”

  “Just tell me the story.”

  He sighed but began to speak in his smooth, nearly hypnotic voice. “The hospital opened sometime around the first World War as a military hospital. Over a hundred thousand soldiers died during the war and over two hundred thousand were injured. The military needed somewhere for them all to go so they started building hospitals. Well, they weren’t prepared for the amount of bodies that came home and soon the morgue space was full, but the bodies kept coming. Apparently the halls were lined with the deceased for days and days, even during the hot summer months.”

  I wrinkled my nose. “Ew.”

  “After that, people started saying they heard voices and crying. Saw lights turn off and on by themselves and things like that.”

  “Well, that’s not too bad.”

  “It doesn’t stop there. During the rest of its time as a military facility, the hospital developed a reputation for being unlucky. The fatality rate was higher here than anywhere else in the country. Next the hospital was sold and turned into a mental hospital. The ninth floor housed the violent offenders. Stories started surfacing about strange phenomena in the hospital, but mental hospitals scare people in general so no one paid much attention. However, there was a rash of murders and suicides on the ninth floor that it couldn’t be ignored.”

  “Not terribly surprising though, right? I mean, it was housing violent offenders.”

  “True, but this didn’t just involve patients. Death was rampant among the staff too. Eventually the hospital was shut down, and it sat empty until sometime in the 1970s. That was when it was purchased by the Catholic Church and turned into St. Michael’s Hospital. It was renovated and reopened. Immediately ghost rumors and strange deaths started back up. The ninth floor was turned into the maternity ward. SIDS skyrocketed, and it’s said every baby born on the ninth floor between 1981 and 1986 died before their fifth birthday, but I don’t know. In the late 80s the hospital was sold to the city, but the name stayed the same—and administration made strict rules against talking about the haunting.”

  “That is so creepy.”

  “It’s not real.”

  “How do you know?”

  “How old are you?”

  “Twenty-six.”

  “So you were born here in 1986 and you’re still alive.”

  “No, my mom wouldn’t be caught dead at a local hospital. We were all born at a state-of-the-art hospital.”

  “Well, there were never any years in the high school that didn’t have a graduating class.”

  I shrugged. “So when did the ninth floor get locked up like Fort Knox?”

  “When it was sold. The new administration thought the legend of the floor was too strong and that, if they closed it, people would forget and all of this nonsense would stop.”

  “Is the fatality rate still high? Should I move Bee? What happened to her nurse? Was she killed or was it an accident?”

  Jack laughed again. “No, you shouldn’t move her. I’m her hepatologist and I work there. I promise it’s perfectly safe or I wouldn’t allow any of my patients to be here. Leigh fell. It was an accident, not a ghost.”

  “What about Bee’s roommate? What happened to her?”

  “I don’t know her roommate.”

  “One day Mrs. Simpson was saying the ninth floor was the devil’s home, and practically the next day she was dead.”

  “It’s a hospital, Ryan. People are sick. Sometimes they die.”

  I shook my head. “I know you’re right, but putting it all together makes one crazy story.”

  “Yeah, but who knows how much is true? You know how these things are. They build and grow over time until they don’t even remotely resemble the truth.”

  I leaned back in my lawn chair, and Jack took my hand. Lights twinkled along Main Street below us, and conversations from the street drifted up through the air like white noise. The hospital loomed on top of its hill in the distance, every floor brightly lit except for that one void. A shiver of unease went through me as I studied it, but I tried to fight it, tried to give myself to the sweetness of the night air and the good company. A breeze caressed my face. I let my eyes fall closed …

  Bam! A slamming noise rocked the balcony. I bolted upright and looked behind me into the apartment. Jack did the same. We exchanged a glance before running inside to investigate the sound. At first, nothing seemed out of place. Jack ran downstairs to check the store, and I checked the closet in my bedroom. One of the boxes I’d shoved on the top shelf had fallen to the floor and lay on its side, split open. A couple photo albums were scattered about. I picked them up and looked at the shelves. It didn’t seem possible that a box had fallen. . They’d been wedged in, holding each other tightly in place.

  “The store looks fine,” Jack said from behind me, startling me enough my shoulders jerked. He laughed. “Did I scare you?”

  “Just jumpy I guess. I think I found the culprit.” I pointed to the photo albums. “But I don’t know how it happened.”

  Jack rested his hands on my shoulders and rubbed small circles at the base of my neck with his thumbs. “Maybe the box was put in like that and the flaps just gave way. You ready to finish this?”

  “What?” I looked back at him, tearing my thoughts away from the closet.

  “The room. One more coat and we’re done.”

  “You’re such a slave driver—I’m tired,” I complained lightly, smiling and letting him lead me back to the bedroom. When the room was finished, Jack tried to talk me into coming home with him, saying the fumes weren’t good for me, but I promised to sleep on the couch and saw him to the door.

  Chapter 11

  “Morning, Bee,” I said brightly, feeling well-rested as I walked in carrying a bag.

  “Look at you, sunshine. What do you have?”

  “A surprise. Has the doctor been by yet?”

  Bee smiled. “Only Dr. Poe. Dr. Sadler seems to be running late—like you are this morning.” She raised her eyebrows.

  “Get your mind out of the gutter, Bee. I have no idea where he is. Vivian and I had breakfast this morning, and Jack went home early last night.”

  “Jack?” A pleased expression covered her face. “He’s handsome.”

  “He is.”

  “Nice too.”

  “So was Briggs.”

  Bee took my hand. “They’re different.”

  I nodded. “I know.” And I did know, but it was hard not to think about the same thing happening again. The thought of opening myself up for that sort of pain and helplessness made my stomach twist and knot. “How’d you sleep last night?”

  “Okay.” She looked away.

  “Really? You look tired. Are you uncomfortable?”

  “A little.”

  “Bee?”

  “I feel something hovering over me, but when I open my eyes, I can’t see anything. Is something there, Ryan, or is it in my head?” She looked at the closet, her eyes fearful—then she shook her head as if dismissing the thought and looked back at me. “So what’s my surprise?”

  “What?”

  “You said you had a surprise.”

  I had completely forgotten. I pulled out a red photo album and held it up. “I found a bunch of these when I was cleaning out the apartment. I thought you might want to look through them with me.”

  “Well, I’ll be. I haven’t seen this in years.” She traced the lettering on the front.

  “How old are they?

  “I was younger than you when I made them.” Bee shifted her pale, thin frame to one side of the bed. “Here. Scoot in so we can look.”

  I lay next to her and opened the album to the first page. “Was my mom more like your parents or are you?”

  “What do you mean?”
r />   “The two of you are nothing alike now. Just curious.”

  “Blythe was always so much like our mother. I was a bit more rough and tumble. But both of our parents loved us dearly—just as both of your parents love you.”

  “Jury’s still out on that.”

  “How are my two favorite girls today?” Jack asked as he came in with a happy smile, carrying two cups of coffee. He handed me one and stole a quick kiss before giving Bee a conspiring glance. “Don’t tell the nurses.”

  Bee mimicked zipping her mouth shut. I shook my head at both of them and got out of the bed so Jack could examine Bee.

  After Jack visited with Bee for about twenty minutes, he had me walk him to the door. “So what are you doing tonight?” he asked.

  “Working on the apartment. What else do I do? I have to get Vivian’s room ready so she can move in.”

  “Vivian’s moving in?”

  “Yep. Apparently she’s lonely.”

  “Want help?”

  “Sure, but you don’t have to. I’m sure you have other things to do. I can manage.”

  “I like spending time with you.” His lips met mine and his hands ran down my arms. “I’ll see you around eight?”

  “Perfect,” I said, trying not to sigh—and ignoring the voice in my head telling me all of this was too quick.

  *

  When Bee drifted off to sleep, I pulled out the scrapbook that she and I hadn’t gotten to yet, skimming through the beginning articles that supported the stories Jack told me the night before. When I was about to stop reading, another article caught my eye. “Prominent Local Family Makes Large Donation to St. Michael’s Hospital.” I opened the page back up. It was about my parents.

  Local Family Makes Large Donation to St. Michael’s Hospital

  The Sterling family stands out amongst their peers

  September 20th, 1986

  Goodson Hollow – In light of the recent rash of troubles at St. Michael’s Hospital, Cornelius S. Sterling V, CEO and majority shareholder in Sterling Oil, and wife, Blythe, made a generous contribution of five million dollars towards the construction of a new state-of-the-art maternity wing. The couple said, “Our hearts go out to our friends and neighbors who have lost their little ones. We hope our contribution may save future families from a similar loss.”

  In the past five years, the maternity ward at St. Michael’s hospital has lost over sixty percent of their deliveries to SIDS or other complications. The ward was officially closed on September 17, 1986 and will not reopen until the construction of the new wing is completed.

  The prominent couple recently welcomed a baby daughter, Ryan Sterling, into their family. Cornelius Sterling says, “Ryan is a beautiful, happy, healthy child, and we are blessed to have her.”

  Philanthropy is part of the Sterling’s creed. They give to several international and national charities and fund many local areas of need. Mayor Darwin Boyd said, “The town of Goodson Hollow is deeply indebted to the generosity of the Sterling family. Their support has been nothing short of spectacular. I am honored to know them.”

  But anyone familiar with the history of St. Michael’s knows the maternity ward’s troubles are not the first time tragedy has struck the hospital.

  The article cut off. I flipped it over but only obituaries were on the other side. It was written four days after my birthday. The way the page was cut made it look like there would have been a picture, but it wasn’t included in the scrapbook. I had no idea my parents had donated to St. Michael’s, but it was true that they were always giving to some cause or another. I always figured my mother just liked the attention it brought her. I was, however, curious about what the journalist had to say about the history of the hospital. Was it the same story Jack told me last night? I pulled a notebook out of my purse and wrote down the date and page number so I could research it later. I flipped to the next page and there was an older article about a spree killing at the hospital, but before I could read it, Bee stirred.

  “What are you looking at now?” she asked in a dry, raspy voice. I set the scrapbook aside and poured her some water.

  “Just a scrapbook.”

  Bee looked at the book and shook her head. “That isn’t mine.”

  “I know.”

  “Where did you get that?” The expression on her face was foreign to me; she looked angry.

  “I found it—”

  “Damn it, Ryan. Put it back where you got it. Why are you digging into something that isn’t your business?”

  I looked at her with wide eyes. Bee never snapped at me, let alone yelled. I nodded slowly and put the book back in my bag while she rubbed her head. “Are you okay?”

  “Just a headache,” she mumbled.

  “I’ll get a nurse.” I walked to the nurses’ station and waited for someone to notice me while I recovered from my strange run-in with Bee.

  “Do you need something, Ryan?” Jack’s voice came from behind me, and the two chatting nurses looked back at me with guilty expressions.

  “Oh, um, Bee says she has a headache. I was just going to see if she could have something for it.”

  He nodded. “I’ll be there in a moment.”

  I went back to Bee’s room, feeling awkward. I didn’t know what the rules were about a doctor dating a patient’s niece, and I didn’t want to make the nurses uncomfortable by running to Jack anytime Bee needed something.

  Bee’s eyes were closed again. I watched her chest rise and fall and wondered what about the scrapbook had upset her so much. The door opened, and Jack entered, a little paper cup in hand. Bee drew in a rattling breath and her eyes blinked open.

  “I hear you have a headache, Bee.”

  She shook her head. “No, I feel fine—was just resting my eyes.”

  “You didn’t tell Ryan your head hurt?”

  “No …” She glanced at me. “I just woke up.”

  My mouth fell open. I had no idea what to say. She had woken up, had snapped at me …Why would she lie about it? “Bee, you did too.”

  “I don’t think so, sweetie.” She gave me a concerned smile.

  Jack set the paper cup on her table and picked up her chart. Then he looked at the monitors around her bed. He scrawled a few notes on the chart before putting it back. “You rest. I’ll take Ryan to lunch. Then you can try to get up and move around some today.” He patted Bee’s arm, retrieved the paper cup, and put his hand on my lower back as we left the room.

  I moved away from him as we entered the hall. “She did say she had a headache.”

  “I’m sure she did. Would you mind eating in the cafeteria?”

  I shook my head, feeling like I needed to defend myself. “Why wouldn’t she admit it? She’s acting strange today.”

  Jack held the door to the stairwell open for me. “It isn’t that she won’t admit it. She might not remember. A lot of people with cirrhosis exhibit personality changes and confusion. We’ve been lucky with Bee so far. She’s pretty much stayed her old self. A little memory hiccup isn’t as bad as it could be.”

  “That explains her yelling at me too.”

  “She yelled at you?”

  “Yeah, right before she said she had a headache.” I chewed on my lip and mulled things over. “It’s just going to get worse, isn’t it?”

  “Acute liver failure is very serious. There’s reason to be hopeful, but she has a long road ahead of her and a lot of changes will have to be made in her life. She needs a good support system. Transplants aren’t easy for patients or their families.”

  My vision swam for a moment, and I blinked tears away. “So her score is twenty-one—”

  “Meld.”

  “Whatever. What exactly does that mean?”

  “It determines her place on the transplant list. Meld scores go up to forty, but a twenty-one is very serious.”

  “How long do you think it will take?”

  “I don’t know. Hopefully, she’ll have a new liver within a few weeks.”

&nbs
p; “But then she has a 72% survival rate for five years?”

  He nodded and I shook my head. I spent most of my time here trying not to think about what was really happening, so this recent spat with the reality of our situation drained the life from me and replaced it with fear. My eyelids started pulsing as we walked into the cafeteria. Jack put a comforting hand on my shoulder. “I know this is hard, but you’re doing great.”

  “I don’t know about that.” I grabbed a side salad and piece of fruit, not having much of an appetite.

  We sat in a relatively empty part of the cafeteria, and I spotted Aiden take a seat a few tables away. How did he always know when I left? I poked at my food.

  “You are doing wonderfully, but it’s a lot for one person to handle—which is why you should try to mend your relationship with the rest of your family. Bee will need a lot of support, but so will you as her primary caregiver. Having a family network will help a lot.”

  I shook my head. “Not my family. You’ve met them.”

  “People change, Ryan. Give them another chance. You have to get used to each other again. Besides, would it really hurt to be friends with the mayor?” He winked.

  That reminded me about my lunch with Ashley. I felt there was more he wasn’t telling me. Maybe getting closer to my family was the only way to see all the skeletons in our closets. “You really want me to have dinner with them?”

  “Yes, and without me this time. I think I add another layer of discomfort.”

  “I’ll consider it once my living situation is in order. I can only manage one hurdle at a time.” I looked around the room at the various groups of doctors sitting together. “Is it okay for you to be fraternizing with me?”

  A sly smile slid across his face. “Is that what I’m doing?” I rolled my eyes, and he continued. “You aren’t my patient. I don’t see problem.”

  A woman in a suit and efficient heels approached our table, carrying a clipboard. “Excuse me,” she said to me and looked at Jack. “May I talk to you for a moment, Dr. Sadler?”