by Ron Ripley
“You’re tired,” she observed.
“Exhausted.”
“Will you come to bed?” she asked, and the question was like a knife, pushed deep into his guts and turned slowly back and forth.
Words failed him, so he nodded instead. She led the way out of the kitchen, and he followed her back into the hall and up the main stairs. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of some of the others. Eloise and Thaddeus looking nervously at him. Shane waved hello to them, and they slipped away quickly.
Carl met them on the second floor, barely containing an expression of disdain.
“You need to rest,” Carl said, ignoring Courtney.
“He is,” she snapped.
Carl raised an eyebrow in surprise.
Shane nodded.
“Did you tell him he had a message?” Carl asked.
Shane saw Courtney stiffen, and a small smile crept across Carl’s face.
“What message?” Shane asked.
Courtney shot an angry look at Carl and then said, “Someone from the Sanford Hospital called and said they had an opening for you tomorrow for the skin graft.”
“Alright,” Shane said. “I’ll listen to it, later. I need to sleep now. Didn’t sleep at all last night.”
“Was it bad, my friend?” Carl asked in German.
“Yes,” Shane replied, answering in the same. “One of the living helped them. There’s a man dead, and I’m sure there’ll be more before this is through.”
Shane switched to English and said, “I’ll see you for lunch. Or dinner. Or whenever I wake up, Carl. Please make sure the others are quiet. I am not in the best of moods.”
Carl gave a short bow and vanished.
A cold touch reminded Shane of Courtney’s presence, and he looked down at her small form.
“You need to rest,” she repeated.
Shane nodded. An ache settled into his heart as he looked at her, her once elfin features blurred by death. She smiled at him, and there was only love in the expression.
For a moment, he wondered if she ever blamed him for her death, if she ever held him responsible for her murder.
With a sigh, Shane followed her into his bedroom and hoped he would be able to sleep.
Chapter 41: Alone in His Room
“You have to keep him home today,” Matias said.
His youngest son’s confusion came through in the phone. “Why? He loves to see you.”
A pang of remorse punched through Matias and he nodded. Then, remembering he was on the phone he said, “And I love to see him. But we’ve had a murder here. Several, in fact, and I could not live with myself if he was hurt.”
“Are you serious?”
“Very,” Matias replied. “Now listen. Under no circumstances are any of you to come and see me. Not until I call and tell you everything is alright.”
“Dad,” his son began.
“Alright?!” Matias demanded.
“Sure, dad, sure.” His son’s tone was placating. “I’ll let everyone know.”
“Thank you,” Matias said. “Good bye.”
He didn’t wait for his son to reply before he hung up.
Matias shivered in bed and turned his eyes away from the phone.
The call had been difficult to make, but Matias knew it had been necessary.
As much as he longed for the companionship of his family, Sanford was too dangerous. He had dealt with many tragedies in his life, he would not suffer the death of a grandchild or great-grandchild caused by his own negligence.
He was alone in the room. Doc had been moved out shortly after Brett’s murder, returned to E Ward. Matias looked at the betony scattered around his bed. More of the herb was on his pillow, and for a moment he wondered if it would be better to wipe the dried bits of leaves away.
Why not let her come in your sleep? he asked himself. Would it not be easier? Is that not what she wants? What you want, after all?
Matias couldn’t argue with himself. The idea of death didn’t normally bother him. For some reason, however, the thought of dying at the Nurse’s hands filled him with fear. It was an unusual sensation for him and one that he didn’t find particularly enjoyable.
What bothered him even more was the fact that if she killed him, his death would most certainly not be the last.
She will continue to intervene, he thought. When nature should be allowed to run its course, however brutal it might be.
Matias looked at his cards and realized he had no desire to play, nor any interest in the television or the stack of Jack Reacher novels that Nurse Platte had so thoughtfully brought in to him.
I only want this finished, Matias thought. I want her gone, sent to either Heaven or Hell, I don’t care which.
Matias yawned, turned a little to the left and looked out the window. Beyond the clear glass, he could see the night sky. The stars shined brightly, the crescent moon glowing a curious yellow. Autumn would quickly run its course and winter would settle in brutally upon New England.
The idea of the cold weather sent a shiver through him, and Matias shook his head. He had never been fond of the cold.
Best not to think about it, he thought, chiding himself. Stay alert and focused on the Nurse, and whoever she has as an assistant.
Really, he thought. What chance do I have? If I close the door, she can pass through it. Or a nurse or an aide, even a janitor or someone on security could come in and finish me off.
Panic ate at the edges of his reason. He fought back the urge to call for a nurse, to ask to be brought to another room. To be given some sort of living companion who wouldn’t try to shoot him in the chest.
Matias let out a short, harsh laugh.
Is this what you’ve come to? An old, frightened man trying to hide from death? he asked himself.
Let them come for me, Matias thought, closing his eyes. Let them come. I will live, or I will die. But I will fight, and I will finish this task if I can.
Chapter 42: Never Alone
He passed by Matias’ door several times, peering in as he did so.
Always, the Watcher saw the old man awake, eyes looking at some distant point.
It wasn’t until well after midnight that the old man was finally asleep.
The Watcher hesitated by the door and stared hard at Matias. When the old man didn’t react, he moved into the room.
He walked quietly, each step carefully placed. If Matias was to awaken, the Watcher would smile and ask the old man how he was.
But Matias didn’t wake.
Instead, he snored gently, a bit of saliva gathering in the corner of his mouth.
Soon, the Watcher thought, backing out of the room. The Nurse will usher you along, and you will find the peace you need.
When he reached the hallway, the Watcher glanced to the nurse’s station and saw Nurse Emily there. She nodded and looked down.
The Watcher closed the door to Matias’ room and went to the supply closet. From it, he withdrew security tape and carried it back. Silently, the Watcher sealed the entry. Then, from his breast pocket, he removed a small sign and attached it to the door.
The message, written in bold black letters on a red background, declared the patient in the room to be quarantined.
No one will listen to your screams, Matias, the Watcher thought, returning the tape to the supply closet. Pity you? Yes. Listen? No.
Chapter 43: A Time for Violence
Dom Francis Benedict had given up violence when he had taken his vows.
He had forsaken it after leaving the Army. Years of fighting had cost him; emotionally and spiritually. He had been able to separate himself from it, as all good soldiers can, but after he had become a civilian, he remembered what he had done.
Dom Francis recalled who had done it, too.
Occasionally his dreams were haunted, filled with bitter memories of the past.
He sat on his small cot in his austere room. His previous life was boxed away, left with his brother in Vermont.
The sole decoration on his walls was a crucifix.
Dom Francis looked at the image of his Savior and thought, Must I resort to violence?
He did not expect an answer, and he wasn’t disappointed when none was given.
Dom Francis got off of his cot, knelt down on the floor and crossed himself. He let his chin drop to his chest, and he sank into prayer.
Time passed, and he continued to seek guidance.
Then, a flash of memory.
He was crouched on a hilltop, making sure he didn’t silhouette himself against the night sky. The rest of the team was around him and the enemy approached. They had come upon a caravan coming in from Pakistan. The men below them, burdened with supplies, chattered in Pashto. Some complained and their friends mocked them. They were almost home to their village. From there, the supplies would go out to various Taliban units.
Weapons, ammunition, information.
All of it would be used against Coalition troops and Afghanis who had allied themselves with the United States.
Dom Francis and his team had struck quickly, killing every member of the caravan. Some of the supplies were destroyed. Others were booby-trapped. Dom Francis had helped to sow destruction in order to save others.
He opened his eyes and saw the sun had risen.
A single beam of sunlight pierced the clouds, passed through the clear glass of his window and fell upon the small bedtable beside his cot. The light illuminated his Bible, and the small red book of the Rule of St. Benedict.
The petit volume glowed.
With his joints aching, Dom Francis got to his feet. Carefully he went and picked up the book. It fell open in his hands and his eyes latched onto a paragraph.
“Thanks to the help and guidance of man, they are now trained to fight against the devil. They have built up their strength and went from the battle line in the ranks of their brothers to the single combat of the desert.”
She may not be the devil, Dom Francis thought grimly, closing the small book, but she certainly does his work for him.
He returned the book to the bed table and looked at the crucifix. Dom Francis crossed himself and thought, There’s work to be done.
He left the safety of his room to prepare for battle with the Nurse.
Chapter 44: Leaving Berkley Street
“It’s dangerous at this hospital?” Courtney asked.
Shane sat on the edge of his bed, his shades drawn against the morning light. He lit a cigarette and replied, “Yes.”
“And the operation is dangerous?” she said.
Courtney was close by, the room cold and causing him to shiver occasionally. He couldn’t see her in the darkness, and he was thankful.
“Yes,” Shane said.
“Then why are you going?”
“So I can use myself as bait,” Shane explained. “I need more information. Someone has to know where her body is.”
“But they want to kill you,” Courtney said, her voice coming closer.
“Some of them do, sure,” Shane agreed.
“I want to come with you,” Courtney demanded. “I can make sure no one interferes with the surgery.”
“I don’t know if you’re strong enough,” Shane said gently.
The door to the bedroom opened with a thud, light from the hall causing him to wince. Then it was slammed shut, shuddering in its frame.
“I’m strong enough,” she declared. “I get stronger each day. The children, they help me.”
“Eloise and Thaddeus?” Shane asked, surprised.
“Yes,” Courtney answered. “They say it is their penance to care for me after they chased me away.”
Shane had no reply for the statement. He held himself responsible for her murder.
“Shane,” Courtney said softly. “Do not blame yourself for my death.”
Shane’s throat tightened, and he couldn’t reply.
“Will you let me come with you?” she asked.
He nodded.
“Then put them back on,” Courtney whispered.
In the darkness, Shane stretched out his hand and found his dog tags on his pillow. The metal was cold and familiar, the chain was a comfort as he slipped it over his head and let it hang around his neck.
Courtney sighed.
“When will we leave?” she asked.
“Soon as I’m showered and dressed,” Shane answered. He finished his cigarette, stubbed it out in the ashtray on his nightstand and stood up.
It was time to go to the hospital.
Chapter 45: Waking Up Alone
Sunlight woke Matias up. He was surprised he had slept through to the morning.
He straightened up as his body complained; aged joints and bones upset at being disturbed. Matias looked to his tray and saw there was no breakfast.
Evidently, I haven’t slept as late as I thought, he told himself. Matias glanced at the clock on his bureau and paused. Quarter past 7? Breakfast should have been delivered. Hm, perhaps they’re late.
Matias turned himself partially on the bed and saw the door.
It was closed.
Frowning, Matias picked up the call button for the nurse and pressed it. A moment later, the speaker above his bed squawked.
“Yes, Matias?” a woman asked.
“Marilyn?” Matias asked.
“No. My name is Irene,” she said. “Marilyn’s been moved up to another Ward.”
Matias hesitated, pressed the reply button and said, “Irene, my door’s been closed, and there’s been no breakfast. Is everything alright?”
“We’re all fine out here,” Irene replied. “Did you forget that you’re under quarantine?”
“What?” he asked, surprised.
“Yes,” she said, her tone one of sympathy and patience. “Last night you were quarantined. You were exposed to a toxic chemical. One of the janitors accidently trailed it into your room. We have to keep you isolated for a brief time.”
“No,” Matias said, “this is unacceptable. I need my door open.”
“Now, now,” Irene said soothingly. “We’ll bring your food in shortly. We have Mark suiting up right now.”
“Mark?” Matias asked. “Why aren’t you? And what about Nurse Platte? Does she know about this?”
“I’m not trained to work in a hazmat suit,” Irene replied. “And Nurse Platte is busy. She said she’ll check in on you later.”
“I would prefer you or Nurse Platte,” Matias said.
“I know,” Irene said. “Listen, I don’t want to alarm you, but the chemical you were exposed to, has been known to induce hallucinations, both audio and visual. And, because of your age, there really isn’t anything we can prescribe to help you with them.”
Matias didn’t respond. He didn’t have to.
He knew there was no chemical, toxic or otherwise.
They’ve isolated me, Matias thought. Have they done the same to Doc on E Ward?
“Matias?” Irene said.
“Yes,” Matias said, sighing.
“Mark will be in shortly. Let us know if there’s anything we can do to make you comfortable,” Irene said, her voice full of sympathy.
“I will,” Matias replied. He set the call button down on his bed.
This was deftly done, he thought. A chemical, one which induces hallucinations. Should the Nurse come and I call for help, who is to believe me? An old man, seeing a dreaded rumor. They might feel terrible about my passing, but they will think I was old and that my body couldn’t withstand the shock of the toxin or of the hallucinations it induced. Clever. Quite clever.
The door to his room opened. A man in yellow, protective gear entered the room. Matias could see it was Mark behind the clear plastic of the face plate and the man carried with him a tray of food. Beyond the door was a small foyer made of heavy plastic sheeting.
For a moment, Matias considered the possibility of a real chemical spill.
Then Mark was at his bedside, putting the tray down on the table.
“Anythi
ng else?” Mark asked.
Matias shook his head.
“Don’t worry,” Mark said with a smile. “This will all be over before you know it.”
“I hope so,” Matias replied, picking up a piece of toast.
“I know it will,” Mark said. “The Nurse will arrive soon.”
Matias stopped mid-bite and looked at Mark in surprise.
Mark nodded. “Yes. She’ll come for you and you will know peace, Matias.”
The man patted Matias’s leg affectionately and left the room.
Matias put the toast back onto his plate. He had lost his appetite.
Chapter 46: Preparing for Battle
Dom Francis walked into the Lithuanian Club, and the conversation stopped.
Several old men sat at the bar, and Uri Popovich looked at him in surprise from behind the same.
“Francis,” Uri, the large man, said, coming around and offering his hand. “What the hell are you doing here?”
Francis shook it and said, “I need a favor, Uri.”
“Sure, anything. You name it.”
“I need a shotgun and your loader,” Francis said.
Uri blinked, and the men at the bar suddenly had stunned expressions.
“Damn,” Uri said when he found his voice again. “No offense, Francis, but what do you need a weapon for? I thought you gave all that up when you left the Army.”
“Can you accept that I need it, without explanation?” Francis asked his old comrade in arms.
“Sure,” Uri said, grinning, half of his teeth gold. “You know that. You could have walked in and asked for an RPG, and I’d get it for you.”
“I know, my friend,” Francis said. “And I thank you. But all I need is the shotgun and the loader.”
Uri turned to the bar and said, “Gary.”
One of the men nodded.
“Mind the shop, will you? I’ve got to go upstairs for a minute,” Uri said.
“Sure,” Gary replied.
“Come on, Francis,” Uri said, and he led the way to a set of stairs tucked away in a deep shadow. Francis followed him to the second floor, where Uri lived and repaired weapons. Various tools for gunsmithing, as well as more than a few weapons of different makes and models, were set neatly on the workbench. To the right of Uri’s equipment was a riotgun- a fast-shooting shotgun with a drum magazine.