Sanford Hospital (Berkley Street Series Book 4)

by Ron Ripley

  When he was twelve.

  I am not twelve, Shane thought, forcing himself to get up. The wood floor was cold beneath his feet. He looked around the room at his Star Wars toys, his GI Joe action figures, and a stack of comic books. I am not twelve.

  “Hello.”

  Shane looked up and saw the Nurse.

  She stood in his room, in front of his door.

  “Hello,” Shane answered, and his voice was that of a twelve-year-old. “Why are you in my room?”

  “I’ve come to check on you,” Ruth said. She took a step further into the room. “You are my patient.”

  Shane glanced around, trying to see something he could defend himself with.

  There was nothing.

  “I appreciate your concern,” Shane said, “but I’m really okay.”

  “I think perhaps I am the better judge of your medical condition,” she said in a patronizing tone.

  “You need to stay away from me,” Shane said, putting as much force into his young voice as possible.

  Ruth paused, wagged a finger at him and said, “You will have to take a more respectful tone with me, young man, or else I’ll make sure they withhold your dessert.”

  Fear began to eat at Shane. Desperation filled him as she started to walk towards him again. A hypodermic needle appeared in one of her hands while a glass vial was suddenly visible in the other.

  “You need to take your medicine,” she said, stopping at the side of his bed. Ruth inserted the needle into the vial, drew a dark, foul substance into the instrument, and smiled at him. “It will only hurt for a moment.”

  “No!” Shane yelled. He twisted on his bed and launched himself off it towards the windows. Behind him, Ruth commanded him to stop. He leapt without looking back.

  ***

  Shane swore as he hit the tile of the hospital room floor. With his chest aching, he turned and saw the Nurse standing beside his bed. A mixed expression of anger and disappointment was on her face.

  The door to the room swung open, and she vanished.

  Brett hurried into the room, followed by Doc Kiernan.

  Shane managed to get to his feet by the time they reached him.

  “Are you alright?” Brett asked.

  “Fine, now that she’s gone,” Shane said.

  “Who?” Doc asked. “The Nurse?”

  Shane nodded.

  “Why was she in here?” Brett said.

  “To give me my medicine,” Shane said bitterly. He sat down on his bed. “In my dream, no less.”

  When the two men looked at him in confusion, Shane told them what had happened.

  “But why did she target you?” Brett asked. “No offense, but other than Dr. Georges, everyone else who’s died was old or dying.”

  “Evidently, I’m special,” Shane said.

  “Or else she’s killing more than we know of,” Doc said in a low voice.

  Shane and Brett looked at him.

  “Honestly,” Doc said. “Think about it. What do we know about her, other than that she’s said to wander around E Ward offing those already on death row? What if that’s not true? What if she’s just kept herself busy for however many years? What if she kills whoever she thinks needs killing?”

  Shane sighed. “What a terrible idea.”

  Brett nodded his agreement.

  “I didn’t say I liked the idea,” Doc said. “I was only throwing it out there.”

  “You may be onto something,” Brett said. “I’ll have to look into it. See how many fatalities there were over, say, the past year.”

  “Go back farther,” Shane said.

  The men looked at him.

  “Farther,” Shane repeated. “Her uniform is about a hundred years old. Means she was here, or nearby, around the end of the First World War. Possibly during the Influenza Epidemic right after the war. I don’t know if there are records going that far back, but look into it, Brett, if you can. I won’t be out of here for at least another day or two. Longer if they don’t find someone to do the skin graft.”

  “You should be out by tomorrow,” Brett said.

  “Good,” Shane said, unable to keep the relief out of his voice.

  “Going to leave us to our fate?” Doc asked.

  Shane shook his head. “Hell no. I’ve got some stuff at home I’ll bring back. Maybe even find a friend or two who might be able to help. If I’m lucky. If not, well, then I’ll bring enough material to make sure the Nurse doesn’t come back anymore.”

  “Like what?” Brett asked.

  Shane gave them a hard, small smile. “Gasoline and a good supply of matches.”

  Chapter 16: The Order of St. Benedict

  Dom Francis Benedict felt physically ill when he looked at the Sanford Hospital.

  This place is bad, he thought, examining every aspect of the building with a critical eye. This place is downright terrible.

  A small part of him urged retreat, a return to the car and a quick trip back to the college. But only a small part.

  I place my life in your hands, Oh Lord, Francis thought, and he walked to the front of the hospital. When he entered the building there was a terrible chill to the air, a foul scent hiding behind the normal smells of a hospital. He paused in front of the main desk and a young woman looked up from her phone. It took her a moment to realize he was a religious man, and when she did, she hastily put her phone down.

  She smiled nervously and said, “Good morning, Father.”

  “Good morning,” Francis said, smiling. “But it’s Dom Francis, or Brother if that’s easier. And don’t worry, this isn’t Catholic school. You’re not in trouble for looking at your phone.”

  The young woman blushed. “That obvious?”

  Francis grinned and nodded. “I’m here to visit with some of the residents. I usually start with the oldest, if they have a desire to speak with me.”

  “Hm,” she said. “That would definitely be Matias Geisel, but he’s not Catholic. I think he’s Lutheran.”

  “I’m not here to convert,” Francis said gently.

  “Oh, okay,” the young woman said. “Well, he usually has visitors, but he may want some more company. He’s in Room 20, A Ward. Just go up the stairs, through the double doors and take a right. Matias is in the last room on the left.”

  “Thank you very much,” Francis said. “I didn’t get your name.”

  “Sarah,” she said. “Sarah Hall, Brother.”

  “A pleasure, Sarah,” Francis said. He waved goodbye and followed her directions. The hallway leading to Matias Geisel’s room was filled with myriad sounds, a veritable cacophony. People talking, televisions playing, announcements over the speaker system. A couple in another room were arguing, and Francis had to focus on the reason he had come to Sanford.

  He knocked on the door.

  “Come in!” a voice called out.

  Francis did so, and he found an extremely old man sitting alone in an easy chair. Framed photographs lined the walls, covered his bureau, and gave a brief glimpse into the vast family Matias Geisel enjoyed.

  Matias had a rollaway table in front of him, a half-finished game of solitaire dealt out. He had a fresh cup of coffee and a piece of toast as well, and he looked pleasantly surprised at Francis.

  “I have to say,” Matias said with a grin, “this isn’t something I expected when I awoke this morning.”

  “I’m glad,” Francis said. He walked closer, shook Matias’ hand and introduced himself.

  “Have a seat, Dom Francis,” Matias said, gesturing towards the room’s other chair.

  “Thank you,” he said as he sat down. “I’m here to visit and to talk.”

  “Me in particular?” Matias asked with a raised eyebrow.

  “No,” Francis said, smiling. “Everyone who would like a little conversation.”

  “I never say no to a little conversation. Or even a lot,” Matias said, winking. “You must be from St. Anselm’s College.”

  Matias nodded. “I am.”
r />   “Yes, I’ve only seen a few Benedictine monks, and they have all been here in New Hampshire,” Matias said. He took a sip of his coffee and then said, “I’m being terribly impolite. Would you like me to see if someone could bring you a cup of coffee?”

  “No, thank you,” Francis said. “I had some this morning when I broke my fast. Too much and I’ll never be able to sit still through evening prayers.”

  Outside the room’s single window, clouds settled in front of the sun, casting a dim shadow over the two men. Matias reached out, found the switch for the lamp on his end table and turned the light on.

  “I don’t appreciate the dark anymore,” Matias said. “Too many years of doing things most men should never have to. You have the bearing of a military man, Dom Francis. I’ve never seen it in a religious way before.”

  “I was in the Army before I took my vows,” Francis said.

  “I suppose that explains it then,” Matias said, chuckling.

  The light flickered, went out, came back on, and flickered again.

  Both men looked at it.

  A moment later, the bulb shattered, glass embedding itself in the lamp shade and scattering across the floor. The temperature in the room plummeted. In the dim light, Francis’s breath came billowing out in great clouds.

  The sensation of unease which he had felt when he had first walked into the building magnified a hundred fold and Francis stood up.

  “Sit down,” Matias said gently. “We can’t do anything against her, not if she’s set her mind to it.”

  “Who?” Francis asked, looking over at the old man.

  “The Nurse,” Matias said. “Now sit. Please.”

  Francis sat.

  The room grew colder, goose bumps erupting on Francis’s entire body. Then, from the left wall, a figure emerged. A woman, dressed in a nurse’s uniform Francis had only seen in books. She looked at them both, a stern expression on a face which was undeniably pretty.

  “Father,” she said, looking at Francis.

  He didn’t bother to try and correct her. Francis was trying to accept the reality of her presence.

  “I must ask you to be sparing with your time with Mr. Geisel. He is old and I’ve not yet decided if he’s to have his appointment today or not,” the Nurse said. She smiled at Matias and said to him, “It may be today, Mr. Geisel. It may not. Best to be prepared.”

  With a nod to them both, she turned and left the way she had come. The room slowly warmed up, and Francis looked at Matias.

  Matias picked up the call button for the nurse on duty, pressed it and looked at Francis. “Would you like a cup of coffee now, Dom Francis?”

  Francis could only nod as the image of the dead nurse etched itself into his memory.

  Chapter 17: Visiting Some Friends

  Nurse Platte had been upset when Shane left the hospital. It was only after he had promised to return for treatment, that she had discharged him.

  Shane enjoyed a large drink of whiskey and two rapidly smoked cigarettes before he left the parking lot. He picked up a coffee from a gas station and sent a request for assistance via text.

  The response had been quick.

  Come on by.

  Thirty-seven minutes later, he pulled into a driveway on Old Nashua Road, parked the car and shut the engine off. He walked up the stairs of the farm house, stepped onto the porch and knocked on the door.

  It opened a second later, and Brian Roy stood in front of him, grinning.

  “Shane,” Brian said, holding out his hand, “how the hell are you?”

  “Terrible,” Shane replied, shaking Brian’s hand and then pulling the man in for a hug. They clapped each other on the back.

  “Come on in,” Brian said, stepping away from the door. He turned and called down the hallway, “Jenny, Shane’s here!”

  From the kitchen, Jenny said, “Hi Shane!”

  “Hey Jenny,” Shane called back. Brian closed and locked the door. Together they walked into the small den. Shane plopped down in a chair while Brian went to the loveseat.

  “This,” Jenny said, “is as domestic as I’m getting today.”

  She sat with Brian on the loveseat and Shane looked at Brian. “You doing okay?”

  “Fair enough,” Shane said.

  ”Tell us what’s going on,” she said.

  Shane settled back into the chair, and told them about Sanford Hospital. He kept the bit about Nurse Ruth invading his dream for the last.

  The color drained from Jenny and Brian’s faces.

  “Jesus,” Brian said after a moment. “I’ve never even heard of anything like that.”

  “I have,” Jenny said, and both Brian and Shane looked at her. “I’ve been reading through different books from a friend’s library. One of them talked about ghosts and demons conducting psychic attacks through dreams.”

  “Did they say how to defend yourself against the attacks?” Shane asked, leaning forward. “I’ve got to go back up there, and more than likely it’ll be for a little bit. I’d rather not have her choke me to death in my sleep before I can figure out what to do with her.”

  “There was,” Jenny said, “but I’ll have to look it up. I don’t remember, and I sure as hell don’t want to give you the wrong name.”

  “Yeah,” Brian said. “That would be a pain.”

  “Be right back, I want to check the books upstairs.” She got up and left the room. Shane looked at Brian, at the scars on the man’s head and the glitter of steel-capped teeth in his mouth.

  “Man,” Shane said, “you look like an extra from an apocalyptic movie. What the hell happened?”

  “Just some trouble with a ghost,” Brian said.

  “Looks like you got worked over pretty good,” Shane said.

  “More than pretty good,” Brian said bitterly. “I do research every once in a while, but it’s Jenny who does most of it. She works hard. And don’t let her kid you about reading a little bit. She’s reading about a book a day. Sometimes more if they’re smaller.”

  “Wow,” Shane said.

  “Wow is right,” Brian said.

  “What’s wow?” Jenny asked, walking back into the room. She had a small book in her hand.

  “I was telling Shane how much you read,” Brian said.

  She grinned. “Yeah. A little bit.”

  “I guess so,” Shane said, chuckling. “So, what’s the deal with psychic attacks? I’ve never dealt with this before.”

  “It’s not common,” Jenny said. “There’s stuff about it in ghost lore, but usually it takes an incredibly strong ghost.”

  “Okay,” Shane said. “But you know, I’ve faced off against some miserable spirits. And they were strong. Really strong. No one tried to reach in my head before while I was asleep.”

  “There are a lot of factors,” Brian said. “From the research I’ve seen, one of the biggest is voluntary energy sharing. I don’t know how this ghost of yours operates, but look at Josephus.”

  Jenny scoffed at the mention of the dead man’s name.

  Brian nodded. “Yeah, Babe, I feel the same way. But the point I’m trying to make is all of his power must have come from the other spirits he kept there. He was an energy vampire. Stealing the power. So while he was strong, he wasn’t as strong as he could have been if they had given him their energy voluntarily.”

  “What we’re thinking,” Jenny added, “is that your ghost is getting her boost from the willing, and that really makes all the difference in the world when it comes to being able to attack psychically.”

  “She might fit the bill,” Shane said after a minute. “She’s been operating for a long time at Sanford. And I think she’s got a lot of support there. And that could do it?”

  Jenny nodded. “Yes, as long as she’s able to feed off their energy, yeah. Definitely.”

  “Like we said,” Brian added, “voluntary is the key.”

  “Great,” Shane said, sighing. “So, how do I keep her from ripping me apart while I sleep?”
/>   “Couple of different ways to defend yourself,” Jenny said. She opened the book, flipped to a page near the end and nodded to herself. “The only one I think has some real merit, and some actual testimony from reputable ghost sites is the herb, betony. I know there’s a new herbal shop in Nashua, so you may be able to find it there. If not, you’ll have to call around.”

  “What do I do with it?” Shane asked. “Wear it like a charm?”

  Jenny shook her head. “No. Sprinkle it around your pillow. It probably wouldn’t hurt to scatter it around your bed either.”

  Shane took his phone out, brought up the notepad app, and entered ‘betony’. “Thanks, Jenny.”

  “You’re welcome,” she said. “I wish there was more we could do without putting my man-child here in harm’s way.”

  “No worries there,” Shane said, grinning. “I’ve got a couple of hard-charging veterans up at Sanford. We’ll get it done.”

  “I’m sure you will,” Brian said. He looked down at his hands and sighed.

  “Something wrong with the drink?” Jenny asked with a wry smile.

  Brian nodded.

  Shane looked at him and asked, “What?”

  “No whiskey in it,” Brian said, and Shane laughed as Jenny slapped her husband on the arm.

  Chapter 18: Matias Waits Alone

  Matias knew he would die. Everyone did.

  He had seen hundreds of men killed. Thousands wounded. He knew what it was like to choke the life out of a man, and what it meant to try to pick up the pieces of a friend killed by artillery fire.

  Matias had been a killer – one of the finest. He didn’t suffer from nightmares or regrets. Matias knew plenty of men and women who were afflicted with post-traumatic stress, but he wasn’t one of them. He had found peace in war. Without a doubt, Matias had been a war-junkie, one of the few who constantly sought out strife.

  The wound in his hip had ended his relationship with war and forced him to build one with his wife.

  He reflected upon all of it as he looked at the pictures in his room, photographs of his children, grandchildren, and his great-grandchildren. In the top drawer of his dresser was a photo-album filled with pictures of friends, most of them dead. A few of the younger ones, those with whom he had fought in Vietnam, remained.