Chapter 12

The hallways of the hospital had gone quiet for the evening, or those that were not connected to the Emergency Room, that is. On the sixth floor, sitting behind his desk, the charge nurse filled out his paperwork for that evening. He had just come on shift and had shared out the workload for the nurses working with him tonight. It was going to be a long one—he knew from the moment he’d woken up that afternoon.

* * *

He rolled out of bed and stretched his arms upward, his whole body purring with the pleasure of his muscles being stretched to their limits. Dropping to the floor, he started his pushups but had to stop at eighty when his back twinged. He laughed as he collapsed and rolled onto his back among his discarded scrubs from the night before, breathing heavily, his skivvies twisted on his body. He hadn’t hurt himself too badly but decided to take it easy, just in case.

He reached over for the shirt and pulled off his ID, running his thumb over his name—David Taylor—printed beneath the picture. It was two years old, taken after he’d graduated from nursing school. David had been a medic in the army for several years, having deployed to the Middle East on three tours, once in Afghanistan and the other two times to Iraq. He got out and went to school to be become a nurse, and he’d never looked back. He loved his job. The hours sucked, his social life was almost nonexistent, but hey, he made good money and he got to help people.

David sat up, then stood up, and looked at himself in the mirror. Lean, muscular body, solid tummy, nice ass…still sexy. He laughed, rolling his eyes, and walked into the shower. Under the jets, he grabbed the bar of soap and lathered himself up, wondering what the day had in store. The soap dropped from his hand, and he bent to retrieve it, anticipating a repeat of the twinge in his back. He slipped, banging his head on the sliding door of the shower.

“Shit!” Soap in hand, he straightened up and rubbed his head. Sore but not bleeding.

After he’d dried off and dressed, he went to the kitchen and reached for the coffee pot to fill it with water. It literally broke in his hands, crashing to the floor.

“Goddamn it!”

He gingerly stepped around the mess and went for the broom. Hurriedly, he cleaned up and grabbed his car keys so he could leave a little early and stop by a Tim Horton’s on the way to work. He called his boss to inform her of his going to be a few minutes late.

“The afternoon I’ve had, Cheryl, if I don’t get some coffee, I’m offing someone tonight, I swear.”

She laughed and told him to take his time—nothing major was going on—and to bring her a double café latte with whip cream.

* * *

It had been quiet when he’d walked into the hospital and taken his charge sheets from Cheryl in exchange for her double café latte. As he organized his work station and got ready to go on rounds, he figured that even though the day began rough, it was sure to smooth out.

He took his charts and followed up on the patients on the ward, many of whom were now sleeping as it was half past nine. He whistled as he walked down the hallway, relieved to be safe and sound in the hospital. The crazies were all in bed for the night; the security guard was at the nurses’ station down the hall. The only thing that followed him was the smell of antiseptic and Simple Green.

* * * * * * * *

On the floor below, in a janitor’s closet, the same smell of antiseptic and cleaner was stronger. The little four-by-four cube sat in total darkness broken only by the light coming in from under the door. Mrs. Ann Napier had finished her work for the night, having emptied her mop bucket in the slop sink—the same mop bucket she had used for the past twenty-five years. She worked from nine in the morning, cleaning toilets and mopping floors, until five in the evening, Monday through Friday.

She hated the job. Her back ached, her feet ached, and she was exhausted most days. But she had two children in school, and one in the military, and she vowed that as long as they worked hard to make her proud, she would work to put a little money away for them when they graduated.

Her closet was meticulously taken care of, all of the spray bottles labeled in accordance with MSDS workbooks, the bottles of chemicals kept in neat little rows, and the brooms put away, along with the mop. She prided herself on her work. She even remembered to make sure the sink, which had a hose attached to it, would not drip and waste money. She would be surprised to find that tonight, the faucet had been turned on, and somehow the hose lay on the floor. A steady stream of water came pouring out.

Yet the water did not run out of the door; instead, it pooled right there in the janitor’s closet. It swirled, turned over on itself, ran the length of the room, and then gathered back onto itself. No dip, no imperfection of man-made floor caused this, the water moved as if with a purpose. It wasn’t sink water, clean, clear, and chlorinated. It stank—not like sewer, but like freshwater from a pond or a lake. As it pooled there, another crazy thing began to happen which would surprise dear old Ann. The water began to take shape and slowly rise up off the floor until it was in the form of a man. The faucet shut off and turned itself back where Patricia had left it, dragging the rubber hose back into the slop sink. The man stood waiting in the closet until Dr. Martin, in a rush to help deliver a baby, ran past. Then he pushed out of the closet, walked over to the door leading to sixth floor, and disappeared up the stairs, leaving behind wet footprints.

* * * * * * * *

She had been laid out in her bed, the lights turned off; her eyes opened, staring at the ceiling. Her pajamas hung on her body, loose and unkempt. Her hair, normally fussed over with fashionable indifference, hung limp and lifeless. She didn’t care; she couldn’t care. Elizabeth Lage was miles away in a safe place. The drugs they’d given her, through various injections, now coursed their way through her veins. She was in a bright place, in a room where the only door had been shut by her, and no one was allowed access there.

Inside the room, memories—safe memories—replayed themselves over and over again. Birthdays, vacations, holidays, high school, first kisses and snow days, all the things that made her happy and kept her safe. But it wasn’t all hugs and puppies in there; there was a shadow that followed her. She knew the shadow’s name but didn’t dare utter it or else she would be taken back to the lake shore. And she couldn’t go back there.

The shadow kept following her into every memory she had, insisting on talking to her. She fled through those memories to others, but it was still there.

“Elizabeth,” the shadow would say to her, and the voice was familiar. The sound of the voice broke her heart for reasons she couldn’t understand. It represented something she couldn’t handle right now.

“Go away,” she screamed at the shadowy figure.

Of course, she never uttered these things aloud. Inside, she was frantically trying to escape. On the outside, she simply lay on the bed, unrestrained. The only indication that she retained life was the rise and fall of her chest. You would have to really pay attention to be sure; her breathing was slow, like she was asleep. But her pink Hello Kitty shirt rose and fell with each painfully slow breath.

“Wake up, Elizabeth. You have to get out of here,” the shadow said. It was becoming as frantic as she was. She knew the voice.

On the outside, she was no longer alone. He stood there, watching her stare off into space. The door to her room stood wide open and he had taken a few steps inside. He tilted his head to the right as he considered her.

Squish, squish, squish came the sound of his footfalls as he approached her. His face was bloated, his lips a pasty blue. Algae had started growing in his hair and he was muddy, his clothes clinging to him. Chad knelt beside his beloved.

Inside Elizabeth’s mind, the shadow forced her into a corner. She tried to run, but he kept calling her name. Suddenly, it stopped and looked toward the door.

“Oh no!” it said.

At the other end of the hallway, David rounded the corner with his chart in his hands, still whistling. He passed the main entrance, and before he knew it, his foot slid on a wet spot and he was flat on his back. He’d almost knocked himself out. He rolled onto his knees, head hanging down, while he tried to catch his breath.

He looked over at his chart, which lay facedown in a puddle. From this angle on the floor, as he looked beyond, he saw several more puddles along the hallway; the trail disappeared around the corner. Walked was the word for it—the puddles were the same distance apart as footsteps. He reached down into the puddle and, for whatever reason, raised his wet hand to his nose and took a sniff. It was water, but not water out of a faucet. It had a mineral smell. He sniffed again. It smelled like river water or lake water.

“What the fuck?” He struggled to his feet, and as he stumbled forward, soaking wet clipboard in hand, his back twinged. It really hated him now.

In Elizabeth’s room, the drowned man knelt down next to his beloved’s bed as if to ask for her hand in marriage. Instead, he reached one cold clammy hand over and turned her face from lying sideways; her vacant eyes staring through him didn’t matter much to him. All he wanted was a kiss and he would have her forever, like all the other souls he had taken. He leaned in and pressed his hands on her head. One hand held her forehead, one hand opened her jaw. He opened his mouth and leaned further down, pausing about an inch above her. His body heaved, once, twice, and on the third heave, lake water began to pour from his mouth into hers.

Inside, the door of her mind burst open. The shadow screamed and disappeared as Elizabeth was swept away in a torrential flood of lake water.

On the outside, she gagged, she writhed, but eventually the lake water took its place in her lungs and the candle that was her life was snuffed out.

David rounded the corner, walking slowly, trying not to lose sight of the footsteps in the glare of the bright lights on the white floor. They ended at the last room on the right side of the hallway: Elizabeth Lage’s room. Catatonic, according to the chart in his hands, and he rushed forward. His first shock was to find the door standing wide open, and when he turned the corner, his jaw fell open in disbelief.

“Hey! Hey! Get away from her!” he shouted at the figure hovering over the bed. He flipped on the light and took a step into the room. Yet, when he beheld the figure, he stopped dead in his tracks.

The man stood up and regarded him for only seconds before it smiled.

“What the hell are you doing?” David took another step forward.

Chad tilted his head to the side and slowly began to melt. Water cascaded down his face, pouring onto the floor under his feet where gurgled and swayed before it exploded, raining down on everything in the room including David.

David quickly wiped his face, his hands shaking. As his eyes traveled down to Elizabeth, now blue and lifeless, he made his own water. He knew he should have stayed in bed today.