The Lodge at Whispering Pines

by Melissa R. L. Simonin

  “I forgot to ask what you wanted,” I said to Miles conversationally. “I hope you like what I ordered for you.”

  “This is excellent. Thank you,” he said, and kissed my cheek.

  “The food here is outstanding,” I commented as I ate. “Why wouldn’t it be though, with Chef Antonio running the kitchen!”

  “I wonder what he enjoys more. Working here, or at the estate?”

  “Goodness, I don’t know! What if he likes this better?” I asked with concern.

  “We should give him the option to choose,” said Miles. “Grandma Polly may not be very happy with us if we whisk away her Chef permanently, but… maybe she’ll actually come see us. I need to call her, do you realize we haven’t talked to her since New Year’s Day?”

  “That wasn’t all that long ago, even though it feels like it.”

  Doreen decided to un-shun us.

  “So when is Violet going to wake up?” she wanted to know.

  “If she sticks with her schedule, then around noon,” said Miles. “The pressure on the force field is lessening, which is a good sign.”

  “Violet should be at Memorial by now, don’t you think?” I asked.

  “Quite possibly. Wouldn’t that be great if whatever they’ve been administering to her at Pineview is discontinued at Memorial.”

  “Oh, I hope so!” said Doreen, excited now. “Maybe she won’t be confused, and will stay longer. Maybe she won’t even go back to sleep at all!”

  “How awesome that would be,” I said, a little excited myself at the possibility. “If the confusion is gone, and she doesn’t keep falling asleep the way she has been, we could learn a lot.”

  “It’s continuing to lessen,” said Miles, as he stood, and Doreen and I followed him. We each had a seat, which we waited on the edge of.

  Violet stirred and her luminous eyes blinked, then opened. She looked around at us, and her eyes fastened on Miles. He beat her to the punch.

  “Violet, I’m Miles. We’ve talked before. You told us you believe you were murdered. That’s not true. You aren’t dead. You’re alive. Your body is in a coma, in a hospital.”

  She blinked again.

  “I’m… why then…?” she held out her arms and looked at them.

  “We don’t know,” said Miles. “What we do know is that you’re being moved to a hospital that’s better equipped to help you. We’ve talked to your parents. They love you and miss you, and are very anxious for you to wake up.”

  “How? How do I wake up?” She was distressed. “Where—where is the other part of me?”

  “The Neurosciences ICU at Memorial Hospital is where you’re being transferred. You may already be there. They’ll take good care of you. There might be something you need to finish before you wake up, though. You wanted to know who murdered you. No one did. But you believe someone tried to.”

  “Yes… yes! I don’t remember, but someone did this!”

  “Your parents think it was Spence,” said Doreen.

  Violet looked incredulous.

  “No, it wasn’t Spence! I know that!”

  “Your parents said he didn’t want you at the party,” Doreen said.

  “No,” Violet said, looking to the side as she struggled to remember. “No, but he changed his mind.”

  “Your parents didn’t know,” I stated.

  “No, or they forgot… Our friends went, and I went with them. Then he hung out with me at the party.”

  “You wore a costume,” I said. “So that no one would recognize you.”

  “Yeah, no one did!”

  “You had your jacket on underneath your costume,” said Doreen. “I would wear a jacket over my costume, unless I had a reason not to.”

  Violet’s eyes fastened on Doreen as she thought.

  “We were going to leave… so many people were there. I convinced Spence we could sneak out. But my jacket was upstairs. I couldn’t leave it.”

  “So you put it on under your costume so it wouldn’t alert people that you were leaving,” I said.

  “Yeah,” Violet nodded. “Yeah, that’s what I did.”

  I had to risk it.

  “Did anyone see you put on your jacket?”

  Doreen shot me a dagger-like glance, but Violet answered.

  “No, almost. But it was dark… no one could see me. There was no moon.”

  “I wonder if Professor Frederick’s house—”

  But Doreen didn’t get further than that, because Violet grabbed her head, and was gone. Asleep, I mean. She, such as she was, remained in the chair inside the force field.

  “There was no warning this time,” Miles said, frowning. “The pressure is extreme. Maybe whatever is causing this is meant to help her. If she’s at Memorial now and this relates to something they’re doing, I’ll release the force field.”

  Miles took his phone out of his pocket and dialed. We’d have to wait to discuss what we learned from Violet.

  “Hi, Mr. O’Neill. This is Miles Bannerman. I’m calling to check in with you and make sure Violet’s transfer went smoothly.”

  Miles listened, his eyes going from serious, to grave, to frustrated, to angry.

  “I’ll be there inside of forty-five minutes.”

  Miles put his phone back in his pocket, and I grabbed my purse.

  “Doreen, shoes and coat!” I said, as Miles handed me mine and reached for his. Something was very wrong for Miles to look this way.

  “What happened? What’s wrong?” Doreen asked anxiously, as she struggled to slip on her boots.

  “Less talk, more walk,” I said. “Put your shoes on in the elevator.”

  I grabbed her coat and other boot, and hurried her out of the suite. Miles was right behind us, and the elevator doors closed as soon as we were inside.

  Doreen struggled to get her other boot on, and by the time we reached the ground floor she had one arm in a coat sleeve, too. Miles helped her get the other arm in as we hurried past the check-in desk.

  As soon as we were in our SUV and buckled up, I hazarded to ask.

  “What happened?”

  “I’ll know better when we get there. Mr. O’Neill is very frustrated. He said they’re getting nowhere with the transfer. His take on it is that Pineview doesn’t want to let her go.”

  “How can they stop her from being transferred to a better hospital, better equipped to care for her, when that’s what her parents want?” I couldn’t understand why the hospital would even want to.

  “No idea,” said Miles. “I hope there’s some sort of misunderstanding or issue with paperwork that can be easily straightened out. We’ll know soon. Call the law firm for the Bannerman Foundation, would you please? Let them know we may need them to step in, and to be prepared to show up and quote law at a moment’s notice.”

  “Yes sir, consider it done,” I said, taking out my phone and scrolling to the appropriate contact.

  I apprised the office of the situation and was reassured that if we said jump, they’d say how high. Conversation complete, I pressed the end button and put my phone back in my pocket.

  I’d been distracted by Bannerman Foundation business, and now remembered my sister was in the SUV.

  “Doreen, we can’t know what’ll happen. It could get heated if Miles can’t straighten this out right away. Mr. and Mrs. O’Neill are going to be understandably emotional…”

  “Are you telling me to zip-it?” asked Doreen.

  “Yeah, that’s one way to put it,” I said. “It’s very important that we not be interrupted once we get there.”

  “Okay, fine. Consider me zipped.”

  She made a motion as if running a zipper across her lips, turned her wrist, and tossed the pretend key over her shoulder. She managed somehow to bring her iPad with her, and turned her attention back to it.

  I took a deep breath and checked my makeup and hair in the mirror of the sun visor. Then I took the hand Miles held out, and we drove the rest of the way in silence as we mentally prepared fo
r whatever it was that awaited us at the hospital.

  We left the outskirts of Glen Haven. This place was further away than I realized.

  The road curved around the mountain and on the other side of the thickly growing forest, was Pineview Hospital. A tall white-painted wrought iron fence surrounded it, but the gate to the driveway was open. A heavy layer of snow blanketed the grounds in front. The building itself was white brick, and a covered drop-off and pick-up with white pillars, stood in front of the several sets of automatic sliding doors. The blinds at a few of the windows in the four-story building were open, but most remained closed. The brick building was stained with streaks of rust here and there, where the gutters had failed.

  Miles followed the long drive around the building and found a parking space in the small lot. Maybe this is why Pineview didn’t encourage visitors!

  This hospital didn’t appear to have an emergency room. It wasn’t labeled if it did, anyway. There was a covered entrance here, as there was in the front of the building, but only one large sliding door instead of several. This is where an emergency room would be if they had one, and this is where the ambulance waited to take Violet to Memorial.

  I held Miles’ hand and kept an eye on my sister, who was still focused on her iPad. We followed the narrow sidewalk which skirted the building, and reached the front at last. The doors nearest us slid open, and we walked inside.

  A long, narrow lobby stretched out on each side of the entry. Directly in front of us stood an imposing, raised counter. Behind that counter sat an imposing hospital employee. Her dark hair was pulled back tightly, the skin around her eyes stretched just as tight. It had the effect of a poorly done facelift. I wondered if she could even blink fully. It was reasonable to assume that the lines on her face that weren’t slicked back with her hair, and which perfectly fit her current expression, existed after years of dedicated frowning. She looked down at us as though we were so many gnats come to annoy her. She was even taller than Miles from her perch. How many steps did she have to climb to get up there, I wondered!

  Doreen poked me, and showed me her iPad.

  She’s probably unhappy because her hair hurts. Someone should tell her not to make her ponytail so tight.

  I suspected from the gleam in Doreen’s blue eyes that she was more concerned with making me laugh than she was over the imposing woman’s comfort, or lack thereof.

  I quickly thought of the saddest thing ever. When Miles disappeared, and I thought I’d never see him again.

  That worked. No chance of laughter now. I clung tightly to his hand, and he squeezed back.

  “I’m Miles Bannerman, Executive Director of the Bannerman Foundation. I’m here to see that Violet O’Neill’s transfer to Memorial Hospital in Glen Haven goes through without difficulty.”

  The Queen of Hearts—I mean, imposing woman, looked down at Miles and waited a moment to respond. Something about the look in his eyes quailed her, though. She picked up a phone and dialed.

  She muttered into it. I could barely make out what she was saying. I looked up at Miles, and he smiled reassuringly and put his arm around me. He wasn’t concerned. Our reception wasn’t a good sign, though. I noticed that no one occupied the chairs that were sprinkled throughout either side of the long waiting room.

  I also noticed Miles had his phone out. He sent a text with one hand, since the other arm was around me, and then put his phone back in his pocket.

  Moments later, Mr. O’Neill hurried in through a large doorway that led down a hall with closed doors on each side.

  “Mr. Bannerman, I’m very glad to see you! I don’t know what to think of these people, what their problem is—”

  “We’ll make certain that whatever it is, it gets straightened out,” said Miles with confidence. That bolstered Mr. O’Neill’s as well. “Care to lead the way?”

  Before the imposing woman could shout “off with their heads!” there was loud crash behind and to the side of the counter. Imposing woman whipped around, and we were off. Through the door and into the hall, and straight to the elevator.

  She hollered after us, but the elevator would be here before she could climb off her pedestal. And, here it was now.

  “I’ve never dealt with a crazier bunch,” said Mr. O’Neill, not even panting after our mad dash. He worked in a machine shop, he was used to hard work.

  “So they don’t want Violet to leave,” Miles said.

  “No, I don’t think they do. They’re saying things that don’t make sense to me or Mrs. O’Neill, trying to talk right over our heads and confuse us into giving up, is what I think.”

  “Alright, Mr. O’Neill. I promise you that Violet will be moved. Today. Allow me to handle it from this point forward.”

  He wouldn’t break his promise. If all else failed, he’d use his superpowers to get her out.

  This could get interesting.

  The elevator let us off on the third floor, and Mr. O’Neill led the way to a set of double doors labeled Chief of Staff, Business Office, Patient Admittance, Patient Release.

  Mr. O’Neill opened the door and held it for us.

  The secretary at the desk in the main office didn’t say anything. She looked overworked, underpaid, and what’s more, sympathetic. I smiled at her as we passed by. She looked surprised, as though she wasn’t used to friendly gestures. She smiled back briefly, then looked around nervously as if what she’d done wasn’t tolerated here.

  Mr. O’Neill shoved open a door that said “Patient Admittance and Release” and we followed him into the small office.

  The man behind the desk smiled condescendingly. Clearly there was a misunderstanding on our part. We were too silly to understand, but he would be patient, talk down to us as much as was necessary, and straighten us out.

  Or so he thought.

  Mrs. O’Neill was seated in one of the two uncomfortable chairs. She stood when we arrived, and hugged me. The poor woman was trembling, but from suppressed anger rather than fear.

  “I don’t know what’s the matter with these people!” she hissed in an undertone.

  “It’s okay, Miles will fix it,” I said softly.

  “Good afternoon,” Miles said. “Anika, will you please begin?”

  I took my phone out of my pocket. Miles turned back to the man behind the desk, who looked a little confused now.

  I spoke into my phone.

  “This is Anika Bannerman. The date is January 9th, 2016. The location is Pineview Hospital, outside of Glen Haven. The Executive Director of the Bannerman Foundation, please state your name sir,” I held my phone out to Miles.

  “Miles Bannerman.”

  “Is here on official Foundation business to facilitate the transfer of Violet O’Neill to Memorial Hospital at the request of the O’Neill’s, Violet’s parents and legal representatives. You, sir. Please state your name.”

  I held the phone toward the man behind the desk who was now frozen in place. His eyes flitted from me, to Miles, to the O’Neills. Doreen was sitting in a chair behind us, so he missed her. He swallowed hard.

  “What’s this all about?” he said.

  As if he didn’t know.

  Miles humored him anyway.

  “My name is Miles Bannerman, Executive Director of the Bannerman Foundation. I understand there’s been some difficulty in having Violet O’Neill transferred to Memorial Hospital. I am here to ensure that this transfer is made as quickly and smoothly as possible, for all involved.”

  I said, “Please state your name.”

  “Wait, wait, wait,” the guy said, flustered. “I don’t know what you’re trying to accomplish here, but this isn’t how we do things.”

  “I believe my wife and I have made it perfectly clear what we’re trying to accomplish here, as have the O’Neills. I am beginning to think your lack of assistance toward the O’Neills and the transfer of their daughter is intentional in nature. If that is the case, then should they choose to proceed with a lawsuit, I intend to provide the O�
�Neill’s with a copy of this recording to be used as evidence. If you have nothing to hide, then… Please. State. Your. Name.”

  There were beads of sweat on the guy’s forehead.

  “Bob Hutchins,” the guy said, managing to sound belligerent. “Look, there may be outstanding bills, and those must be paid before the patient is released!”

  “There may be outstanding bills,” Miles stated back to Bob, and gave him a few seconds to think about that. “The question is then, are there outstanding bills?”

  Bob was struggling to regain his attitude.

  “The billing department is closed for today. Statements are printed at the end of each month for expenses incurred during the previous month.” Bob turned to the O’Neill’s now, and said, “Come back at the end of January and bring your statement, and we’ll go over it together.”

  “Oh good grief, I’m just a kid and I know that’s ridiculous,” piped up my sister. She’d found her key and unzipped. “They’ll always be waiting for next month’s bill, and running up another one while they wait. You might as well give up and do your job, before Miles makes you sorry you even came to work this morning.”

  Bob had no idea who was talking, and craned to see. Doreen squeezed past us to show her iPad to the O’Neills. A flame lit behind Mr. O’Neill’s eyes, and he pulled out his phone.

  “You get to work Bob, or I call 911 and report my daughter is being held against our will.”

  Before Bob could respond, Doreen slapped her iPad on the desk in front of him, and pointed to page after page of search results detailing situations in which patients had done that very thing.

  “We can do this quick and easy, or long and really, really painful, Bob,” said Miles. “You’ve got five seconds to decide, at the end of which time either we’re well on the way to having Violet transferred to the ambulance waiting outside to take her to Memorial, or Mr. O’Neill calls the police and I call in the Bannerman Foundation’s legal team.”

  Doreen held up one finger, then two, then three…

  “Fine! Alright! You’re taking her life into your own hands, she shouldn’t be moved in her condition!” he spouted, as he made the call to inform the nurse on duty that Violet was being released, and ordered that the paramedics from Memorial be allowed entrance.