The Nurse (7 page)

Chapter Eighteen

Alice - Twenty years ago

It's late now, gone midnight, which means I can go to the store.

It must be six months since I last went shopping in daylight. Unfortunately, people know me and they know what happened with the poor boy at the hospital, and they began to gossip behind my back whenever I passed. Few dared actually say anything to my face, although one or two of the braver souls managed to glare at me. I heard the constant rustle of whispers wherever I went, however, and once or twice I even picked out a few of the words they were using to describe me.

Murderer.

Killer.

Guilty.

So now I stay indoors during the day and only come out at night. As I reach the forecourt of the gas station, with its blazing lights filling the cold night air, I'm grateful that I can at least come here to buy food. The prices are high and the selection is limited, but beggars can't be choosers and at least the bored teenager behind the till never seems to care or notice who I am. Even now, as I step through the door and grab a basket, he doesn't look up from the game he's playing, so I quickly make my way along the first aisle and grab some fruit and bread.

I should hurry. Father doesn't like it if he wakes up and finds that I'm out of the house.

***

Making my way back along the street, with two bags full of groceries, I feel a shudder of panic as I see two figures up ahead. They seem to be arguing next to the gate that leads to our front door, but it's only when I get closer that I realize I recognize their voices.

“There she is!” Angela Harper hisses, storming toward me. “There's the bitch who killed our boy!”

I freeze, too horrified to know what to say or do.

“Are you looking forward to next month, bitch?” she yells, shoving me hard in the chest, forcing me back against the wall. “You're not gonna walk out of that hearing, you know! They're gonna send you down for what you did!”

“Angela, please,” her husband says, trying to pull her away. “Let's just -”

“He's dead because of you!” she sobs, with tears streaming down her face. “He died in agony because you couldn't be bothered to check what pills you were giving him!”

I try to push past her, but she grabs me by the throat and slams me against the wall. Dropping the grocery bags, I try to get free, but she's squeezing me too tight.

“Angela, stop!” her husband shouts.

“You're a monster!” Angela sneers, leaning closer to me. “You were supposed to look after him! You were supposed to make him better, not kill him!”

I try again to pull her hands away from my throat, but suddenly she lets go and steps back. I let out a faint gasp as I struggle to get my breath back. For a moment, it seems as if her husband has managed to calm her down, and he's trying to guide her back toward their car. There's still pure anger in her eyes, however, and after a few seconds she pulls away from him. Suddenly she swings a fist at me, punching me hard and sending me staggering back until I trip and fall to the ground.

In a nearby car, a baby is screaming.

“That's our other child,” Angela shouts, towering over me as her husband tries again to pull her away. “Do you want to kill her too? Do you want to shove the wrong pills down
her
throat?”

“I'm sorry,” I stammer, covering my face with my arms in case she tries to hit me again. I try to grab my grocery bags, but they've spilled all over the pavement and I quickly turn away, hurrying to the front door.

“That's enough,” Angela's husband tells her, as the baby continues to cry. “I told you this was a bad idea. Let's just let justice take its course.”

“Murderer!” she screams, but at least she's not following me now. “You killed my boy! He's cold and rotting in the ground because of you!”

She's sobbing now, breaking down, but I don't dare look back. Instead, I fumble with the front door key before finally managing to get inside. Slamming the door shut again, I drop down to the ground and start weeping. My whole body is trembling and I can still hear Angela Harper yelling outside, but at least I'm back in the house now and she won't be able to get at me.

I should have known that was coming.

It's been weeks since she last screamed at me in the street, but I should have realized that she'd be back soon. After all, the hospital's review board is due to release its findings in just a few days' time. And then my guilt will be confirmed.

A moment later, there's the sound of breaking glass, and I crawl forward so I can look into the front room. A rock has been thrown through the window, landing on the carpet with shattered glass all around.

“Murderer!” Angela shouts again, although a few seconds later I hear car doors opening and closing again, followed by the sound of an engine starting up. Finally they drive away and I'm left on all fours, staring in horror at the rock on the carpet.

“What's happening down there!” Father yells from upstairs, while furiously banging his cane against the floor. “Alice! What the hell is going on?”

Still trembling, I get to my feet. I know I should go and calm him, and that I need to pick up the broken glass and find some way to seal the window until morning, but suddenly I realize I can sense someone standing right behind me. I turn slowly, and sure enough little Anthony Harper is staring at me with dark, sunken eyes.

“They're all telling the truth,” he says calmly, as I step back with tears in my eyes. “You
are
a murderer.”

Chapter Nineteen

Rachel - Today

“Are you sure you're alright?” the taxi driver says as he helps me up the steps. “I can call the police if -”

“I just need to find her,” I stammer, almost tripping. “Are you sure this is the old phone exchange building?”

“Sure, but -”

“Where's the front door?”

“Hang on.” Still holding my arm, he leads me past the top of the steps, and a moment later I hear him pulling on the door. “It's locked.”

“Use the buzzer!” I tell him, still trying not to panic. “Ask for Rosemary Willis!”

I hear him pressing a button, and a moment later there's a faint tinny whistle.

“Is there a Rosemary Willis in there?” he asks, sounding a little confused. “Hello?”

“Where the hell is she?” I hiss, turning and fumbling for the door handle. I try to pull it open, but of course it's still locked. “Mum!” I yell, taking a step back. “Mum, it's me! Where are you?”

Nearby, a voice crackles over the buzzer.

“I've got a young lady here,” the taxi driver explains. “She's blind and she's looking for her mother. She says her name's Rosemary Willis and she's working here tonight as a cleaner.”

“Who?” the voice asks on the other end of the line.

“Rosemary Willis,” he says again. “She's a cleaner.”

“She's my mother!” I shout, hurrying closer and bumping against the taxi driver's arm. He reaches out to steady me. “Please, you have to send her down here! I have to talk to her!”

“Wait a moment,” the voice replies, and the buzzer falls silent.

“What's he doing?” I ask, once again filled with panic. “Where did he go?”

“Hang on,” the driver says, “someone's coming to the door.”

I wait, and a moment later I hear a key being turned in the lock before finally the door swings open.

“Where's my mother?” I ask, pushing through and then stopping as I reach forward, trying to figure out which way to go.

“Who are you?” a man's voice asks. “What's going on?”

“She's looking for her mother,” the driver explains again. “Rosemary Willis? I don't really know what's going on, she called and asked me to bring her out here.”

“Mum!” I shout, filled with panic as I stumble forward. Bumping against the wall, I take a moment to steady myself. “Mum!” I yell again, and this time my voice echoes slightly, which I guess means I'm in a long corridor. “It's me! Where are you?”

“Who are you looking for?” the man asks, sounding confused.

“Rosemary Willis,” I reply, turning and looking in his general direction. “She works here as a cleaner. She's been working here for a while now.”

“Rosemary Willis?” He seems not to know the name. “Listen, I'm the only cleaner who does night duty here. I'm always alone, there's nobody else.”

“That can't be right,” I tell him, sniffing back fresh tears. “Please, you have to find her for me. She works for an agency, she told me she's been doing night shifts here since about two weeks ago. She comes almost every night.”

“I've been here every night since last month,” the man replies, “and I promise you, there's never been anyone else. Believe me, I've asked the agency to send someone to give me a hand, but they always refuse. I'm pretty sure I'd have noticed if there was anyone else here with me. I wouldn't have had to do so much bloody work, for a start.”

“Mum!” I shout, turning and stumbling along the corridor, with my hands outstretched in case I bump into another wall. “It's me! It's Rachel! Mum, where are you? Something happened at the house, I felt -”

Slipping suddenly on a wet floor, I tumble down and land hard on my right arm. Letting out a gasp of pain, I struggle to get back up.

“Mum!” I scream. “Mum, help me!”

***

“Are you sure you don't want me to come in with you?” the driver asks a short while later, as he helps me back to the house's front door. “Maybe I should call the police or -”

“No, I'm fine,” I tell him, already fumbling to find the key. “I just made a mistake, that's all. I must have got the wrong office building.”

“But is there anyone at home to help you?”

“I'll be okay once I'm inside.” My hands are trembling, but I manage to get the door unlocked and then I quickly step inside. My heart is racing and I can't quite figure out what's happening. All I know is that my mother wasn't where she said she'd be, and I felt a face earlier. Except there can't have been a face, which means it must have all been in my head. “Mum?” I call out, hoping that somehow she might have already come back. “Mum, are you here?”

Silence.

“I don't feel right leaving you like this,” the driver continues. “If you -”

“I'm fine, honestly,” I tell him, turning and smiling even though I'm not entirely sure where he's standing. “She'll be back soon. Maybe I wasn't paying attention properly when she told me where she was working. I guess I just had a panic attack, but...”

I pause, thinking back to that moment an hour or so ago, when I felt a face staring straight at me. It was only there for a couple of seconds, and I'm starting to think that somehow I imagined the whole thing. I guess my other senses are maybe over-compensating to deal with the fact that I can't see.

“As long as you're safe,” the driver says finally. He probably thinks I'm completely out of my mind. “I just...”

His voice trails off.

“Thank you for everything,” I tell him, as I swing the door shut. “I'm really sorry I bothered you.”

Once I'm alone in the house, I stand completely still and listen once again to the silence. An hour ago I ran out in a panic, desperately trying to use my phone's voice app to call Mum, and then – when that didn't work – I called a taxi instead. Now I'm starting to feel that I completely over-reacted, and that I allowed myself to fly into a panic. Still, I can't help turning and waiting in case there's even a hint of another noise, but it's becoming increasingly clear that not only is there no ghost, but there's also no sign of Mum.

“Hello?” I call out.

No reply.

I step forward, before stopping again as I realize that there's no way I want to risk playing the piano again. Not tonight, anyway.

Taking a deep breath, I stumble toward the stairs and start making my way up. I think I've completely embarrassed myself tonight and let my fears run unchecked, and I need to get my head straight. By the time I get to the top of the stairs, I've managed to persuade myself that there's definitely no ghost here in the house. Whatever might have happened here in the past, it's long gone and over.

I need to get a grip.

“Stupid,” I whimper, feeling as if I'd be crying now if my tear ducts were still intact. “Stupid, stupid...”

Chapter Twenty

Alice - Twenty years ago

“It's okay,” I tell Father as I grab the tube and force it into his mouth, trying to suck out some more phlegm. “Just stay calm and -”

He bites down, gripping the tube with his teeth.

“Stop doing that,” I continue. “Please, you just -”

Letting out a loud gurgle, he pushes me away and takes hold of the tube himself, forcing it further down his throat.

“Dumb cow,” he gurgles, before adding something else that I can't quite make out.

“That's dangerous,” I say firmly, pushing his trembling hands aside and taking control again. “Just -”

He tries to struggle with me again, and this time the tube falls away, hitting the floor and rolling away. A trail of yellowish phlegm runs down the side of Father's face as he leans back on the bed and starts gagging.

I hurry around the bed and grab the tube, but then I freeze for a moment when I turn back and see that his whole body is shuddering. All I have to do is push the tube into his mouth and draw out more of the built-up phlegm, but right now he's in danger of drowning in his own mucus and I can't help realizing that if I just wait a moment longer, if I do nothing, all his suffering will come to an end.

He reaches up and grabs his throat with trembling, swollen hands.

What happens if I drain the phlegm and keep him alive? He's got a few months left at most before the cancer finishes him off, and he's only going to end up in more pain as his body fails. Maybe I'd be doing him a favor by letting it all end right now. All his pain would be over within the next couple of minutes, and no-one would be able to prove that it was anything other than an accident. Perhaps it's selfish of me to keep him alive, when I could -

Suddenly he turns and looks straight at me, and I immediately realize that I have to act.

Hurrying back to the bed, I force the tube into his mouth and start drawing out as much phlegm as possible.

***

“Why did you wait?”

Dipping the tube into the bowl of water, I take a moment to clean away more phlegm. I expected him to ask that question, but I don't have an answer.

“Why did you wait to help me?” he asks again. “I saw that look in your eyes, it was almost as if...”

His voice trails off.

I hesitate for a moment, trying to think of an explanation, before slowing turning and seeing – for the very first time – a hint of fear in his eyes.

“Were you...”

Again, he seems unable to get the words out.

“Perhaps you're confused,” I tell him calmly, although deep down I don't really
want
to calm his fears, not entirely. I like the thought that he fears me. After all, fear is a form of respect.

“You were watching me,” he stammers. “I saw you, you were just... You were just watching me, almost as if you were thinking about...”

I wait for him to complete the sentence.

“Almost as if I was thinking about
what
?” I ask, before setting the washed tube aside and starting to dry my hands on a towel. “What's wrong? You seem concerned about something.”

He hesitates, before turning and looking toward the window, where morning sunlight is streaming through the net curtains.

“You're in pain,” I say finally.

“You can't even begin to imagine what it's like.”

“So maybe...”

He pauses, and then he turns back to me. “Maybe I'd rather die, and save everyone the bother?”

“That's not what I said.”

“But it's what you're thinking,” he continues. “I can see it in your eyes. You were actually considering...”

Again his voice trails off.

A faint smile crosses my lips as I realize, for the first time, that he doesn't see me as a complete idiot. Instead, he seems to have finally realized that I'm the one in a position of power here, and that I could end his life relatively quickly. I'm not going to do such a thing, of course, but I don't mind him
thinking
that I might.

Setting the towel down, I make my way over to the side of the bed.

He stares up at me with fear in his eyes.

“Do you think I'm a good nurse?” I ask.

“I want to call Malcolm.”

“Why?”

“I just do!”

“You spoke to him yesterday.”

“I want to speak to him again!”

“I'm afraid your phone is still charging.”

“Bring it anyway!”

I pause, before shaking my head.

“Bring my goddamn phone!” he hisses.

“It's still charging,” I tell him again. “The battery could become damaged if I unplug it too soon. Just be a little patient.” I force a broader smile. “There's no need to be worried. I'm right here, and I'm going to look after you. But tell me... Do you think I'm a good nurse?”

He continues to stare at me for a moment longer, before finally looking away.

“You're a wretched failure,” he mutters after a few seconds. “Everyone knows it. You barely lasted a year as a nurse before you outright killed a patient.” He pauses, before turning to me. “How old was he? Eight? And you ended his life through carelessness. It's not as if you have many tasks as a nurse, but not killing your patients would be a good start. Then again, maybe you did it on purpose.”

“Of course not,” I reply, shocked by the idea. “I just -”

“I saw that look in your eye just now,” he spits back at me. “I don't know whether you're incompetent or evil, but you're sure as hell not a good nurse.”

I open my mouth to tell him that he's wrong, but somehow the words catch in my throat.

“Now why don't I go and make you some lunch?” I say finally, turning and heading to the door. “I'll heat up some soup.”

When I reach the door, I realize that for perhaps the first time ever, he hasn't insulted me as I leave the room. Glancing over my shoulder, I see that he's eyeing me with fear, and I can tell that the situation between us has subtly changed. Finally, I'm being shown the respect I deserve.

“Your mother would be disgusted by you too,” he sneers. “God rest her soul. You're just a piece of shit. The only jobs you're suitable for are menial labor, where you can't hurt anyone!”

I want to tell him that he's wrong, but I can already see the boy on the landing again. He's watching me from the grave.