The Nurse (2 page)

Chapter Three

Rachel - Today

“So how come we can afford an entire house?” I ask as I sit on the sofa, listening to the sound of Mum in the kitchen. “What's wrong with the place? Who lived here before us?”

I wait, but it sounds as if she's busy going through all the drawers. Either that, or she's mad at me for knocking over the vase, and for generally being an all-round bitch since we got home.

“Mum?”

I hear her coming through.

“How can we afford this place?” I ask.

“Let me worry about that.”

“But we're poor.”

“We're not poor!” she stammers. “Rachel, why would you say that?”

“Fine, we're lower working class, or whatever. Does that make you happier? We still can't afford a normal house, so what gives? Who lived in this place before us? Norman Bates?”

“Oh, I'm not entirely sure.”

“But how can we -”

“It's a little rundown, I admit,” she continues, as I hear her setting something on a table in front of me. She's being evasive, as usual. “The neighborhood is supposed to be on the up, though. There's money being spent to tidy it and make everything better, and I think there's even -”

I hear a brief buzzing sound.

“Message?” I ask.

“It's nothing.”

I listen to a series of clicks as she unlocks her phone and taps the screen. I'm starting to recognize that little series of noises.

“Work again?” I ask finally.

“Rachel, it's nothing, really.”

“When do they want you?”

“Rachel -”

“No-one else ever gets in touch with you,” I continue, although I immediately realize that I might sound a little harsh. I mean, it's true, my mother has no friends and no family, and even cold-callers tend to give her a wide berth, but I guess I could phrase these things a little more politely. “That came out wrong,” I add, “but... When do they want you to take another shift?”

“I'll tell them I can't do it tonight.”

“Why?”

“Rachel -”

“I'll be fine, you know.”

“There's no way I'm leaving you alone here on our first night in the new house.”

“Why not? It's not like I can get up to any mischief.”

“Still... It just wouldn't be right.”

I hear her tapping at the screen for a moment longer, and then there's a gentle bump as she sets the phone down. It'll buzz again in a minute or two. Guaranteed.

“You struggled to pay the rent on our last flat,” I continue, “and now suddenly you can afford to move us to a house? Come on, Mum, I'm not an idiot. What gives? They must be desperate if they're renting it out to us.”

“It's a little shabby, I admit. But we'll paint the walls!”

“It's not, like, an old drug den, is it?”

“Of course not!”

“A whorehouse?”

“Rachel...”

“Describe it to me.”

She pauses. “It... could... use some fresh paint.”

“So the walls are peeling?”

“There might be some damp problems.”

“There's mold everywhere?”

“It has a certain history.”

“Something bad happened here?”

I wait for a reply, but her silence speaks volumes.

“Mum?” I continue, my interest suddenly piqued. “What happened in this house?”

“Nothing, Rachel, please -”

Before she can finish, her phone buzzes again.

“Just take the shift,” I mutter, leaning back against the sofa cushions.

“I can't. It's our first night here, and I -”

“Take the goddamn shift,” I continue, trying but failing to hide my frustration. “I'll be fine! Now just tell me what happened in this house, and why it's so cheap to rent. Did someone get murdered here, something like that?”

“Rachel -”

“Oh my God,” I say with a faint smile, “I'm right, aren't I? Someone
was
murdered! Did it happen right here in the living room?”

“It's more complicated than that...”

“Who died? And how?”

“I really don't -”

“Please,” I continue, interrupting her again, “you have to tell me! Was someone horribly slaughtered and then carved up? Are there blood-stains still all over the floor and ceiling? Was it a serial killer, or a crime of passion, or -”

“No!” she says firmly. “Of course not! There are no blood-stains anywhere!”

“So the place was cleaned.”

“It's a perfectly lovely house, Rachel! We should be grateful!”

“And who should we grateful
to
?” I ask. “Who's the landlord?”

“Please, just leave it be,” she mutters. “Now isn't the time to be obsessing over the tiniest details.”

She sounds annoyed, perhaps a little exasperated. I know I should ease off and give her a break, but I just want her to let me know the basic information. I can figure the rest out by myself, but I need to know where I should start my search.

“I'm going to get set up in the kitchen,” she says suddenly, and I hear her heading out of the room. “Are you hungry? I'm hungry.”

“Mum, just tell me!” I call after her. “Mum, what happened here? What's wrong with this house?”

I wait.

No reply.

“Mum? Who died here? And how? Was it completely awful and bloody? Please say it was something awful and bloody!”

Chapter Four

Alice - Twenty years ago

“Four and four,” I mutter to myself as I finish arranging the new supplies, “so that makes... sixteen in total. And that takes us through to the start of next month.”

I pause, running the numbers in my head.

“So I need to order more on the twenty-fourth,” I whisper, before making a note. “That should be fine.”

Stepping back, I take a moment to admire the neat rows of bags, tubes and other items that I'll be using to keep Father alive for another month. This used to be the dining room, back when Mum was still with us, but now she's gone and the room is used solely to store medical equipment. There are boxes of fresh colostomy bags, and huge cartons filled with pads and fluids, and all sorts of equipment ranging from the vital to the rather unnecessary. Still, I like to keep all the bases covered, and to have whatever I might need in any eventuality.

Over in the far corner, twenty packets of fresh bandages are piled almost to the ceiling; behind them, there's the piano I used to play as a child, although I haven't actually seen the thing for six months now. I'd like to play it again one day.

For now, however, the whole house has become one big monument to my father's many illnesses.

“Alice!” he yells from upstairs, hitting the floor again with his cane. “Where's that bag? What the hell are you doing down there?”

“Coming,” I whisper, taking a moment longer to make sure that all the boxes are neatly arranged, before grabbing a fresh bag and heading to the hallway.

Even before I've started making my way upstairs, I can hear Father cursing and muttering under his breath. When I get to the top, however, I freeze for a moment. I feel certain that someone is watching me, and I look around, just in case I see the boy again.

My heart is pounding, but there's no sign of him.

“What do you want?” I whisper.

Silence.

I open my mouth again, to ask for his forgiveness, but I quickly tell myself to focus on the task at hand. I can't let my nerves get the better of me, not now.

“No wonder you were fired from every hospital you ever worked at,” he sneers as I enter the room. “At this rate, it's hard to tell whether you're trying to help me or kill me! What kind of nurse do you think you are, anyway?”

“I'm trying to help you,” I tell him, forcing a smile. “How can you even ask such a thing?”

***

“You're doing it wrong!” he hisses, and his voice is positively dripping with impatience now. “It hurts! Why are you making it hurt?”

“Just give me a moment,” I whisper, turning the bag's connecting ring in an attempt to detach it from the opening on the side of his belly. “It's slightly -”

“The nurse at the hospital was much quicker.”

“It's a little -”

“Ow!”

He pushes me back.

“You're like a goddamn barbarian!” he yells. “Don't you have a delicate bone in your body? If you're this rough with your own father, what the hell were you like with your patients?” He sighs. “Then again, maybe you think I don't deserve proper care and attention. Maybe you don't really give a damn at all. That'd certainly explain your carelessness.”

I take a deep breath, reminding myself that I have to stay calm. He's in a great deal of pain, and it's quite understandable that he's taking it out on me.

“I'm sorry,” I tell him, “but the connector is ever so slightly stuck. I just need to twist it so I can remove the bag. I'm trying to be gentle, but... It might hurt a little, there's nothing I can do about that.” I wait for him to complain again, but he simply turns away and sighs. Figuring that this is a signal for me to get back to work, I step closer to the bed and take hold of the bag, turning it carefully until I hear the tell-tale click of the connector. “There,” I continue, easing the bag away to reveal the bright red, moist opening, “now I can -”

“Now you can get on with it!” he snaps, grabbing the bag from my hands and tossing it across the room. “I'm tired and you're making me feel worse! And by the way, it
did
hurt just now, but I didn't bother to say anything. What's the point, anyway? You probably enjoy it when I suffer!”

I look over at the thrown bag and see that some of the fecal matter splattered across the boards when it landed. I'll have to wipe that up later.

“I'll attach a new one,” I say after a moment, grabbing the replacement bag from the table and fumbling to remove the covering. “You know, it really doesn't -”

“You see,” he continues, “this is why that accident happened and you got fired. You're too goddamn slow all the time. I'm starting to wonder about you, girl. Maybe you're not right in the head. One thing's certain, you're a bloody awful nurse.”

He turns and glares at me with yellowing, bloodshot eyes, and for a moment he seems filled with absolute hatred. I'm used to that expression, of course, but it still hurts.

“Or do you enjoy watching me suffer?” he spits. “Is that it? Are you sick and filthy? Is this your way of paying me back for raising you with a few rules?”

“Of course not,” I reply. My fingers are trembling slightly with nerves. “I just want to help you.”

“What was his name, anyway?”

“Who?”

“The boy. The one you killed.”

I flinch slightly, but I know he's only trying to provoke a reaction. He must be in more pain than usual.

“His name was Andrew,” I remind him, as I prepare to attach the new bag, “and I...”

My voice trails off, and for a moment I freeze as I think back to that awful moment when I saw the boy's body trembling violently in a hospital bed.

“When does the review board report its findings?” Father asks.

I turn to him.

“Later this week. Thursday.”

He grins. “Not long now,” he sneers. “They're gonna throw the book at you. Your mistake killed that boy, and you'll be lucky if they don't have you prosecuted for manslaughter!”

“This'll only take a moment,” I explain, holding back tears as I start sliding the new connector into place. I take extra care not to hurt him, even though my hands are trembling. “Just hold tight.”

“So you haven't seen him yet today?”

“Father -”

“Then I guess that pleasure is still to come, huh?” he continues, grinning again. “Poor little lad. It's criminal what happened to him. Criminal! You deserve to get locked away for the rest of your goddamn miserable life!”

Chapter Five

Rachel - Today

The phone buzzes again.

“Take the shift,” I mutter, before slipping a forkful of pasta into my mouth.

“I can't, I just -”

Another buzz.

“You can't
not
take it,” I continue. “Come on, Mum, we both know how this goes. Sturridge asks you to take a last-minute night-shift, and you say you can't. He asks again, and you turn it down again. This goes on for a few hours, and then finally he tells you he'll fire you if you refuse, and you end up rushing off at the last minute.”

I wait for her to reply, but she knows I'm right.

“I'll be fine,” I remind her. “I've been alone during the night before.”

“Not when we've just moved into a new house.”

“I'll just stay in bed. I promise I won't go wandering around in the dark.” I pause for a moment, as I struggle to find some more pasta on my plate. “I'm always in the dark anyway,” I add, although that's not strictly accurate. There's no light and no dark these days, just an absence.

The phone buzzes.

“Take the shift,” I tell her again. “Please, Mum. He actually
will
fire you if you don't. It's not like he'd have trouble finding someone else to clean offices overnight for minimum wage. And I don't think I'm gonna be in a position to contribute to the household budget any time soon.”

I wait for her to accept the inevitable.

“I'm not scared,” I add. “If that's what you're thinking, I'm honestly okay. I'm old enough to handle a night alone in a new house.”

“But it's so unfair on you,” she replies. “Maybe if I call him and try to explain, he'll have to -”

“You could always make it up to me by telling me what
happened
in this house,” I continue, interrupting her again. I've been doing that more and more since I lost my sight, and I know it's a bad habit, but I can't help myself. I want people to talk faster, and more succinctly, and to stop with all the filler and gaps. I want conversations to be snappy and efficient. “Go on, Mum, feed my imagination. Hell, imagination's pretty much all I've got left these days.”

I wait, but all I hear is the sound of her tapping the phone.

“Was it that bad?” I ask finally.

“Was
what
that bad?”

“Whatever happened here. Was it so bad, you're worried it'll warp my innocent little mind?”

“Rachel -”

“I'll find out eventually,” I tell her. “I might be blind, but I have resources. My laptop's got voice recognition software, remember? It might be a little buggy, but I can still search online for information. So don't you think it'd be better if I heard the horrific, grizzly truth from you?”

Again I wait, but she's still tapping away, as if she's trying to persuade her boss to give her a break and let her stay home tonight. Fat chance.

“I can feel it, you know,” I continue.

“Feel what, honey?”

I pause for a moment, listening to the silence of the house.

“This place has a different kind of energy,” I explain. “Maybe you're not picking up on it, but I feel it somehow. It's like the air is alive, it's almost humming. I can tell that something really bad happened within these walls, it's almost a kind of sixth sense.” I pause, trying to think of a better way to explain the sensation. “It's as if the entire house is keeping a secret, and it's holding its breath because it's really
bad
at keeping secrets, and it's trying not to blurt it all out. Can't you feel that? The house
wants
us to talk about its past.”

That's all a lie, of course.

I mean, I'd love to be able to sense that kind of thing, but I can't. Not right now, anyway.

The whole idea is nonsense.

“Mum?”

“What, honey?”

I can't help sighing. “What happened in this house? Please, you have to tell me!”

“Hang on.”

She taps the screen again.

“I'm going to have to take this shift,” she says finally. “I've tried to explain, but Sturridge says he can't get anyone else and -”

“No kidding. Let me guess, you have to leave soon?”

“I have to leave soon. Damn it, I really thought he'd understand this time.”

“Whatever,” I mutter, suddenly realizing that I really
am
going to get left all alone here in the new house on our first night. Despite everything I said just now, I actually don't like the idea very much, but there's no way I can admit that now. I'm no chicken. “I'll be fine. I'll just chill out in bed like a good little girl.”

“I'm so, so sorry, Rachel.”

“Relax. I'm cool. I'll barely even notice you're gone.”

I hear the sound of her chair scraping against the floor, and then she hurries around the table. I wait, expecting her to hug me, but instead she goes to the sink and starts cleaning the plates. Having tried to avoid the shift for so long, now she's in a massive hurry. We might be in a new house, but some things never change.

“So are you really not going to fill me in on this house's history before you leave?” I ask finally. “Don't you think it's my right to know?”

“Another time,” she replies, already sounding distracted and stressed. “Just let me do these dishes, and then we can get you settled in your new bedroom.”

“Yay,” I mutter under my breath. “Can't wait.”