The Elk (A Caine & Murphy Paranormal Thriller Series Book 1)

by Dominika Waclawiak

  “An echo?” he asked.

  “Echoes but no ghosts.” Sara got up from her chair. This was the part she hated the most. “I’m a cash kind of girl,” she said in a rush. “That’ll be fifty dollars.” She hated being so blunt, but clients tended to feel foolish when no ghosts were found, and she mentally prepared herself for an argument on her fee. She was still chasing after five clients for that damn fifty-dollar fee.

  Mr. Delancy lifted his butt off the couch and took a money clip from his back jean pocket. He counted out two twenty-dollar bills and a ten. Sara’s body relaxed as he handed her the cash.

  “Thank you very much, Mr. Delancy. And just so you know, if the ghosts of this couple do bother you, I won’t charge you for another consultation. As of right now though, you’re ghost free.”

  Louise Fairbanks studied Dads’ face with the precision of a plastic surgeon. His watery, pale blue eyes stayed unfocused, his gaze inward, dry spittle caked at the edge of his mouth and debris caught in his stubble. His eyes shifted to stare into hers. She checked his hands. No shaking. A rosy glow replaced the sickly pallor of the last several weeks. The Ambien had worked and he was finally able to sleep through the night.

  She ran her fingers through her short, bobbed hair. She needed to go out and buy some hair dye, a small luxury long overdue. She knew her dark hair was one of her best features, but she had recently lost the battle against encroaching gray hairs. Salt and pepper they called it and she hated it. Not that she had the time for such frivolities now.

  “Gotta get ready,” she said to no one in particular as she walked the length of their small studio and opened up the closet. Her entire wardrobe consisted of different color scrubs: pink, blue, grey, and a flowered one for when she felt especially chipper. As a teenager, she wanted a career in fashion and kept abreast of all the latest styles, her closet overflowing with clothes. The ensuing years destroyed her younger self and left behind a caregiver with little desire for fashion. Her life now revolved around the care of the man who sat before her and her patients. Better not to think about that, she thought. She survived. That was the most important thing.

  She grabbed the pink scrubs, snuck a glance at Dads, and entered the tiny bathroom, closing the door firmly behind her. Lou splashed cold water on her face, scrubbed it dry and pulled a brush through her hair.

  She practiced her patient smile several times in the mirror. A nurse approached her patients with a smile always, and she felt her face crack with the effort. She swallowed the lump in her throat and forced the smile back on her face. At least donning her scrubs mentally transformed her into Nurse Lou, head nurse at the Sunshine Assisted Living Home for the Elderly. Now, if only she could master that whole no nonsense and efficient to a fault business. With a smile, of course.

  Nurse Lou dreaded the task at hand, but she had to do it. She looked in the mirror, thought good enough and grabbed small nail scissors from the shelves behind the mirrored cabinet. “We need to cut your nails, Dads,” she said in a singsong voice as she walked out of the bathroom. Dads regarded her with the same blank expression he always wore. She gripped his right hand in hers. “This’ll go fast, I promise,” she lied.

  Though she hoped he would behave today, Dads wasn’t in the mood to be good. She maneuvered a pair of small nail clippers around his thumb attempting to trim his nail, but he flinched his hand away, and the nail clippers jabbed into his cuticle.

  “Dads, STOP,” she said, checking the small cut. “If you keep moving like that, I could do much worse,” she warned him, pulling his hand back into her lap. He snatched it away again and jumped to his feet, knocking over the chair.

  “I can do this myself. I’m not a child,” he yelled back, his chest heaving. He stood for a moment then plopped down on his bed, the fight leaving him as quickly as it came. His mood swings were becoming more violent by the day, Lou thought, as she got to her feet and glared around their shared room.

  In the morning light, the apartment was small, meager, and beyond depressing. The Formica table, with a mini fridge underneath it, sat between two narrow single beds. Two terrycloth robes hung from a hook on the bathroom door and two small chests of drawers finished off the shabby decor. She’d never bothered to hang any art and left the original pea-soup green paint color on the walls. She shrugged at the room and reminded herself that once he died, she could move on. It was just a matter of time now so why bother with redecorating.

  She turned back to Dads. She needed to lower his dosage, she thought. This change of behavior happened after the switch in the meds and maybe benzo’s were a better option. He was never lucid anymore and, at this point, he’d be better as peaceful as possible.

  “Dads, I’m going to finish, OK? Please, don’t make this difficult.” She slid onto the bed next to him and gave him her best nurse smile. “Ready?”

  He stayed silent and turned his now vacant eyes to the window. Lou grabbed his hand and went to work on his ring finger, humming to deflect any possible conversation. Staring out to the Hollywood Hills beyond, he stayed docile as she finished the rest of his nails. She placed both hands in his lap, sighing in relief, and turning to the window as well. That was the one good thing about their room: the view of the hills and the legendary Hollywood sign, nestled among the yellow smog.

  “Dads?” she asked. His eyes never strayed from the world outside. “I’m doing my rounds now. Want breakfast?” Not waiting for his response, she grabbed his cereal bowl from the top of the fridge, poured the Cheerios to the top and filled it with milk.

  Dads faced her, and Lou smiled. “Good morning, Dads. I made breakfast.” She pointed at the bowl. “I’ll be back before noon to grab you for lunch. I have to do my rounds now.” Lou waited for his eyes to focus, but they stayed empty and blank. She placed a small cup filled with four different colored pills into his hand. “Gotta take these first though.” She handed him a glass of water.

  He swallowed each pill in succession, taking small drinks between. She stood watching him out of habit until he started on his cereal and then picked up her clipboard and manila folders. He looked up at her, his eyes watering and blinking, and she almost felt pity for him. Almost. “All right, see you in a couple of hours,” she said and wiggled her fingers goodbye, sighing as she closed the door behind her.

  She loved taking care of her patients and found her time with them a reprieve from the hell of her life with Dads. Although, she would take this new hell over what he had been like a hundred times over. She was almost free of him and this horrible, old place, she thought. It had to be one of the most rundown homes they’d lived in. Peeling floral wallpaper ran along the wainscoting as four cheap brass plated wall sconces illuminated her way to the elevators. Lou couldn’t believe that this was once a famous Hollywood hotel. No one would mistake it for a grand hotel now, she thought sourly. The residents constantly gossiped of the silent stars that stayed there but Lou didn’t think that made up for the dump that it was now.

  The elevator dinged twice and the doors slid open. She faltered on the threshold, panic seizing her and the familiar claustrophobia freezing her in place. “I’m not afraid. I’m not afraid,” she said and pictured her dear friend Lindsey’s face. “I’m not afraid,” she repeated again and pushed the terror back down enough to stumble inside the death box.

  Lindsey had been her best friend before she passed last year and had suffered from similar anxieties to Lou’s. She had told her that she’d gotten rid of her own phobias by facing each one of them down. Lou made sure to take the elevator every day and used Lindsey as a talisman against the fear. She missed her friend something terrible. She punched the fourth floor button, and the elevator shuddered before starting down. Lou grabbed at the handlebar and squeezed her eyes shut.

  “One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven,” she counted, focusing on each word as if her life depended on it.

  The elevator jerked to a stop, and the doors opened with a whine. Lou rushed out with her eyes still squeezed shu
t, clutching her clipboard and her files to her. She didn’t open them again until she heard the doors close behind her. She opened her eyes and checked the number on the door nearest her to make sure she was on the right floor. Diane, the manager of Sunshine, had told her that identical hallways were a hallmark of hotels and McGregor Holdings, the company who ran the place, felt no need to change a thing. The same wallpaper, same lighting and same doors were on every floor and without the numbers on the doors, Lou had difficulty distinguishing floor from floor and found herself on the wrong floor countless times. Today, she’d got lucky and had made it to the fourth floor. Lou hurried along until she came to number 405, rapped hard on the door and opened it without waiting for a response.

  “Good morning, Judy. How are you feeling today?” Lou, her nurse’s smile plastered on her face, asked as she bustled into a bright room, every inch of its walls filled with family photos. A hospital bed ran alongside two centered windows and faced a massive, flat screen TV playing a muted infomercial for skin cream. The layout matched Lou’s, but the bursts of color from the photos and the coverlet on the bed sorely achieved a warmth missing from Lou’s. Within moments of being there, Lou relaxed and her smile became genuine.

  Judy Billings, a birdlike woman in her seventies with thinning, lavender hair and skin translucent as parchment, perched in bed. “Oh Lou, you’ll never believe the night I had,” Judy said as she motioned for her to come closer. Lou pulled over the nearest armchair as Judy shivered and burrowed deeper into the covers.

  “Do you have a fever?” Lou asked as she took a digital thermometer out of her pocket and pulled a protective sleeve over it. “Open,” she said and stuck it in her mouth. Judy nodded, and the thermometer beeped with the results. Lou took it from her and studied the reading, knowing full well that Judy expected a certain result.

  “I have such terrible chills. I must have a slight fever?” she said in anticipation and peeked over to the thermometer.

  “I’m sorry, honey but it’s reading normal,” Lou said.

  Judy threw herself back on the pillows. “Your thermometer must be broken then. Have you checked the battery? Those digital ones don’t last long,” Judy huffed and leveled a disapproving look at Lou. “You really should start carrying around the glass ones. They always work.”

  “The thermometer works just fine, Judy.”

  “Why do I feel so hot then? I didn’t sleep a wink. I heard things last night—whispers and footsteps—and with Lydia going like that—and the others,” Judy said and shivered.

  “That sounds more like blood pressure, Judy. Let’s check that out to make sure there isn’t anything wrong with your heart,” she said and Judy’s smile returned. Lou knew that Judy took her own blood pressure at least every hour and was convinced she would drop dead at any moment.

  “I’m so glad you came when you did,” Judy gushed. “I don’t know how we survived without you,” she continued as Lou unwound the tube from around the blood pressure machine and slipped the sleeve onto her skeletal arm. Lou hummed a tune her mom used to sing to her as she pumped the sleeve tight, waited the three seconds for the readout, and then let the arm sleeve release.

  “Well, that’s a relief,” she said rather dramatically. “All normal, Judy.”

  “Are you going to tell me what it was or what?”

  “135 over 90.”

  “Like yesterday,” Judy said with a despondent sigh. Most of Lou’s patients had some form of hypochondria but Judy’s was one of the most pronounced.

  “You should go down for breakfast and eat. It’ll help the chills,” Lou said, noting the blood pressure and thermometer readings on Judy’s chart.

  “I am hungry,” she said. “But I still feel off.” Her voice took on a whine that Lou ignored.

  “I’ll see you down there?” she asked instead and took no notice of Judy’s pout. “I know food will make all the difference.”

  Lou headed back to the elevators, humming to keep the fear at bay, and made it halfway before her vision swam and made the hall blurry.

  “Not now,” she whimpered as she reached her hand out to the wall to steady herself. She didn’t know why the panic was so bad this morning but the vertigo hit her hard enough that she leaned against the wall for support. Her heart rate increased, and she knew that if she didn’t stop the anxiety now, her entire day would be one long panic attack.

  She dropped her clipboard, clutched her belly with her right arm, and felt it rise with every breath she took. Dr. Jerris had caught her in one of her attacks some months back and taught her to belly breathe as a way to calm herself. It worked half of the time.

  She pulled all of her focus to her belly as it went in, and out, in, and out with every breath. She got lucky and felt her pulse decrease with every breath. She stayed leaning against the wall for several more minutes until her vision cleared, and she could focus down the hall. The elevator would have to wait until tomorrow, she thought, as she picked up her fallen clipboard and shuffled down the hall, her right hand trailing along it for balance. She trudged past the elevator banks and opened the door to the staircase. She wasn’t in the best condition to be taking so many flights of stairs, but she was already late for her next patient and had no other choice. She couldn’t face another attack so soon after that one, she thought, and gripped the railing. She took the first step and pulled herself up. Fine nurse she was, she thought, and hoped she wouldn’t encounter anyone on her way.

  Lou tapped on Room 605, exhaustion coursing through her body. At least Doreen was her last remaining morning patient. She put the smile back on before opening the door.

  “Good morning, Doreen,” Lou said as she walked in. Doreen, a robust workhorse of a woman in her early eighties, finished tucking in the corner of her sheet beneath the mattress before turning around to her in greeting.

  “You shouldn’t exert yourself like that,” Lou said from the doorway.

  “I feel just fine,” Doreen said as she dropped into a comfy, bright red armchair. “No thanks to the footsteps I heard all last night,” she added.

  “Many here have insomnia, Doreen. I’m sure whoever it was tried to be quiet. I’m surprised you heard it through all the carpeting, though. Outside the sleepless night, how are you feeling? We should take your blood pressure. It’s been awhile,” Lou said and pulled out the dusty blood pressure apparatus from the kitchen cupboard where she had stored it several weeks ago. Unlike Judy’s, it hadn’t been touched since Lou left it there last.

  Doreen ignored her and arched an eyebrow instead. “The footsteps sounded as though they were on tile, Lou.”

  “I don’t get your meaning,” Lou said and walked over to Doreen, undoing the blood pressure cuff.

  “There is nothing wrong with my heart, Lou,” she said and shooed Lou’s hand and the cuff away from her. “What I mean is carpet runs along all the hallways and each apartment has carpeted floors too. Which is why it’s odd that the footsteps sounded on tile, don’t you think?” Doreen asked, crossing her hands over her chest.

  “I still don’t understand what you’re getting at,” Lou said as she put the blood pressure apparatus back where she found it. She was too tired to fight with Doreen today and would check the old biddy’s heart tomorrow.

  “Footsteps on tile have to be from a ghost if the whole place is carpeted. You can’t hear footsteps on carpet,” Doreen said and shook her head at Lou.

  “There are no such things as ghosts, Doreen. And, quite frankly, I’m shocked that something so nutty is coming from you. I thought you had a good head on your shoulders,” Lou snapped.

  “I know what I heard. And don’t even get me started on the whispers,” Doreen said and made a quick sign of the cross.

  “Do you need a sleeping pill to help you sleep?” Lou asked, ready to leave the conversation behind.

  Doreen got up and put on a bright red cardigan, twirling around in front of a full-length mirror. “I look good in red,” she said and gave Lou the side eye. “And I
don’t do pills but thank you.”

  “Not all pills are bad.” Lou stepped closer to the door. She’d had enough today.

  Doreen shrugged. “I’ll make friends with whomever it was. That’s what I’ll do,” she said and Lou waved her goodbyes.

  “If you don’t need anything from me, then I’ll see you tomorrow. We WILL take your blood pressure,” Lou warned her.

  Doreen paid her no mind. “It could be Valentino,” she said wistfully. “I’d like that. Everyone says Valentino has been seen on the ninth floor. I’m going to have to go up there wearing this getup,” Doreen said and winked at her. Lou shook her head and left her staring into the mirror.

  Szymon Michalski held onto his mama’s hand as they navigated the snow covered sidewalk. The bad men in the big trucks made the sidewalk shake, and he couldn’t help glance their way. One of them saw him look and Szymon turned his face away in fear, hoping he was wrong. His mama told him, right before they left the house, not to look at any faces and keep his eyes on his feet. He obeyed like a good boy but when he felt the rumble, he couldn’t help it. The big trucks made a terribly, loud noise and he wanted to cover his ears but mama wouldn’t let go of him. She held on so tight that his hand ached in his mittens.

  “Pick up your feet, Szymon. It’s cold.” She dragged him forward, and he followed the best he could. His toes had frozen the moment they stepped outside because the holes in his shoes let in the wet snow. It hurt to walk, but he kept quiet since Mama seemed worried and the grocer’s was still several blocks away. Mama gave a small gasp and stopped walking. He peeked up to see what scared her and found a bad man and a woman in a big brown coat blocking the sidewalk. His mama pulled him closer and he tucked his head back down, hoping mama hadn’t seen him look up. She’d be so mad.