The One Who Got Away - L.A. Detwiler

Скачать книгу

tea and thinking of you,’ I say, looking to the nurse to smile and thank her. But she is gone. Too much to do I suppose. Too much to do in a world where so many of us have nothing left at all. How cruel life can be.

      ‘Do you want me to come over?’ Claire asks.

      I do. I so desperately do.

      ‘No, no. It’s all fine. I just wanted to talk to you,’ I lie.

      We continue our conversation, Claire filling me in about the new client she’s working with at the advertising agency. She talks about things I don’t understand, but I don’t much care. It’s just nice to hear a warm, friendly voice I know. It’s so cold here.

      While I’m chatting, there’s a knock on the threshold. I turn to see a man stooped at my door. His eyes are dark, his eyebrows unruly. He’s got a strong jawline, I notice, but it’s like his nose is too small for his face, like his head has swallowed it up.

      And then there’s the scar, a bubbling, blatant scar along the top of his forehead, a line that’s parallel with the floor. I try not to startle. Wouldn’t do to be rude. All the patients around here tend to wear clothes that look like pyjamas, but not him. He’s wearing a button-up shirt and some brown trousers that seem like they’ve never been taken off. They’re ripped and worn, a stark contrast to the nice-looking shirt.

      I leave the phone up at my ear. The man smirks, offering a little wave. The smile comes off as a crooked sneer, the few teeth peeking through tarnished brown.

      ‘Menu,’ he whispers, holding up a piece of paper. He limps into my room to the noticeboard on the wall closest to the door. His eyes flit about, as if he’s taking in the sight of my room but also terrified to encroach on my space. His movements are dramatic, as if he has to show me he’s only hanging something on the noticeboard and nothing else. I like that. I like that he’s respectful of my space. See, you can’t judge a book by its cover. I feel rude now, judging him for some ailments and disfigurements. As if to make up for it, I nod and smile overly wide, Claire still talking about some new initiative at work, as he tacks up a pink paper on my board.

      I think about telling Claire to hold so I can thank him, but he’s too fast. He’s out of the room before I can blink, the limp no longer seeming to ail him. I wonder who he is. Is he one of the men that knitting woman was talking about, but which one? He looks somewhat familiar, but I’ve passed so many people, it’s hard to tell or to place him. I suppose I have time to figure it out. In some ways, I have nothing but time.

      When Claire and I are finished talking, I hang up the phone. Standing from my bed, I decide to venture back out. No use being cooped up in here the whole time. I meander around, peering in rooms but trying not to get caught. I don’t want people thinking I’m snooping.

      The day goes surprisingly fast. Later on, the nurses eventually find me to take me down to Floor One where the medical rooms are. I shudder as they lead me into the shaky lift. As the metal doors screech to a close and the metal box sputters, I want nothing more than to climb right back out. The ride is jumpy and creaky. It takes so long to get to the bottom floor that I convince myself it’s definitely broken, that we’ll be trapped in the box of death for hours. My heart races, and just as I’m ready to start clawing my way out, the doors mercifully creak halfway open, pause, and then open the whole way. It’s like the indecisive doors are thinking about staying shut. I scuttle out and pray I won’t have to use it too often in the coming months.

      I have a few check-ups on the first floor with some doctors who seem to want to talk way too much about my heart, giving nosy nurses too much information about my medical history and telling them what to look out for like I’m not even in the room. When I return from their poking and prodding, I spend most of the afternoon sitting with the knitting woman, wandering about, and eventually taking a seat in the little lending library at the other end of Floor Three. I enjoy the peacefulness of the reading area so much, I return after dinner instead of joining in some activity downstairs later that night. I doze off, and when I startle awake, the nursing home is quiet except for a few characteristic moans from Floor Three. I rise from my seat, deciding it’s time to return to my room.

      But when I get to the corridor, I’m disoriented. It’s been too long. Where am I? Where is my room? What room am I in? I look to the left. There are a few rooms that way. I look to the right. There’s a long corridor around the corner. Where do I go? I don’t know. I take a breath, going right. I walk looking in rooms, peering at numbers. What number do I need? How don’t I know? I don’t understand.

      ‘This way, Adeline,’ a voice barks. I look to see the harsh woman from this morning ushering me down the hallway. Is she still here? What a long day for her.

      I nod, following her to my room, relieved she was there despite her glower and her angry mutterings about imbecilic residents. I ignore her icy, squeezing fingers on my arm that dig into my flesh as she yanks me forward. I was going the right way, I realise. This soothes me. Still, when I get to the room, my fingers trace the numbers again. I need to lock them into my mind. 316. I live in 316.

      She doesn’t offer to help me change out of my clothes, instead shoving me into bed with a quick movement that jars me.

      ‘Don’t be wandering, you hear? We have enough to do without chasing down lost rubbish,’ she spits at me. I blink, staring up at the woman, feeling so powerless. Once she’s gone, I exhale out the day’s stresses, trying to think about all that’s happened. My eyes are heavy with exhaustion, and I know I’ll soon be asleep – even with Rose’s gurgling. Still, I know there’s something I must do.

      My mind is wavering, whether I like it or not. But I must stay sharp. I need to stay with it. If the knitting lady is right and this place isn’t as safe as it seems, I need to be careful not to slip up. I lean over to the stand beside my bed and yank on the lamp cord. I slowly pull open the drawer and find a Bible and a notebook. I pluck a sheet of paper from the pad, locate the pen in the drawer, and lean onto the hard surface of the stand to jot down notes.

       316: my room.

       Knitting lady … Dorothy? Deborah?

       Code to the stairwell?

      I look at the list of reminders to myself. Not very impressive, but I haven’t been here long. At least this will help me keep track of information. Maybe it will nudge me tomorrow to remember what I need to find out. I need to keep my wits about me. That’s the one thing I’m certain of.

      I tuck the paper in the back of the Bible, out of sight. I don’t need Claire or the home discounting me as mad. I don’t need them having more ammunition to write me off as nothing more than a disintegrating pile of flesh. I tug on the lamp cord, settle back into bed, and close my eyes. Rose’s gurgles continue to rattle in the background, but I’m so exhausted, it doesn’t matter. Drowsiness settles in, and I almost forget about everything that happened the night before.

      But a while after I fall asleep, with the blackness of the night enveloping me, I hear something that sends pure terror through me. It’s a startling sound I just can’t ignore.

       Second Body Discovered in West Green; Citizens on High Alert as Threat Spreads

      West Green, Crawley, West Sussex

      28 June 1959

      Citizens of West Green are on high alert as a second body this month has been uncovered in Ifield Pond Saturday morning, 27 June 1959, after a thorough investigation.

      The body of Mrs Helen Deeley was found in Ifield Pond after a shoe was discovered by a Crawley resident at the edge of the water. Questioning of Mr John Deeley led investigators to believe that the shoe belonged to the missing Helen Deeley, and a search ensued. The body of the deceased was removed from the pond, and detectives are still conducting a search for more evidence in this case.

      Mrs Deeley was not at their residence when Mr John Deeley returned home from work on 22 June, which was unusual for the housewife. When Mrs Deeley failed to return by the next morning, an extensive search ensued in West Green, but there was no

Скачать книгу