The Nurse (15 page)

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Rachel - Today

“You're going to be okay!” I stammer, desperately trying to pull more bandages from the packet. “It's okay, Aidan, I'm going to patch you up.”

My hands are trembling, but I know I have to work fast. I don't remember exactly how many times I stabbed him with the scissors when I thought he was Father, but I definitely injured him in the legs, groin, chest and shoulders. Reaching down, I place two fingers on the side of his neck and feel that he still has a pulse, which is something of a miracle given that I was filled with so much anger. He's lost a lot of blood, though, and I need to patch him up as quickly as possible.

He lets out a faint groan. Now that I've removed the gag from his mouth, I can hear him trying to speak, but he seems to be fading in and out of consciousness.

“I'm so sorry,” I tell him, pulling a length of bandage from the roll and then fumbling with the scissors for a moment, trying to tear a section away. “I didn't know it was you, I thought it was...”

My voice trails off as I realize I can't possibly explain what was going on in my head. Instead, I focus on ridding my mind of extraneous thoughts and trying instead to deal with Aidan's many injuries. Usually I risk overthinking these things, but right now I'm in such a state of panic that I'm working almost on auto-pilot. My hands have even stopped shaking, and I manage to start bandaging the most serious wounds. Even though I can't see a thing, I instinctively know what to do, and I can already tell that he's not bleeding so heavily.

“Just let him die,” I whisper suddenly. “Killing people is what you're good at.”

I freeze.

That wasn't me.

It was my voice, coming from my mouth, and my lips moving, but somehow it was Father speaking
through
me.

“I have to help him,” I stammer. “I have to -”

A sudden shudder passes through my chest.

“Cut him open some more!” I sneer. “Make him suffer before he dies! Like you did with me!”

I shake my head, but it's clear that somehow Father is in my head. Either that, or I've completely lost my mind.

“I'm going to help him,” I say firmly, although my voice is starting to tremble with fear. “I'm going to make him better.”

“Is that what you think?” I add a moment later.

“Stop!” I hiss. “Not -”

Suddenly I let out a cry of pain as I feel the scissors' blade slicing against my wrist. I pull back, shocked, before realizing that I cut myself on purpose. For a fraction of a second, Father seemed to be in full control.

“I'm not insane,” I whisper, trying to stay calm as Aidan groans again. “I'm -”

“You've been out of your mind all your life,” I sneer, once again channeling Father. “I could always see it. Your mother saw it too, before she went away.”

I shake my head.

“And now look at you! Talking to yourself!”

“Leave me alone!” I blurt out, grabbing the scissors again. This time, I carefully cut my arm from the elbow to the wrist, and the pain seems to push Father's voice away.

I take a moment to steady my nerves, but I know I need to work quickly, while Father is out of my mind. He'll be back soon.

For the next hour at least, maybe two, I work steadily to keep Aidan alive. I have to cut my arms regularly, to bring the pain that holds my mind steady, and soon I lose track of which blood on my hands is mine and which is his. All that matters, though, is that I keep him alive. And although the injuries I caused were significant, his pulse remains steady and I'm increasingly confident that I can patch him up. He'll need to go to a hospital, of course, but at least he seems to be overcoming the worst of the damage.

“There,” I say finally, once I realize I've done all that I can. “I told you. I promised I'd make you better, and I did.”

He mumbles something, but his voice is so low and weak, I can't make out a word.

“Now to rip each of those stitches open,” Father sneers using my voice. “One by one. Make him scream and -”

“No!” I hiss, stepping back.

Suddenly I start smiling. From nowhere.

A moment later, I feel the first rumble of a laugh.

“Stop!” I whimper. “Please...”

“You're pathetic,” I add, unable to hold the words back. “You can't even see what you've done to this man. He's probably a goddamn mess.”

“I need to get you out of here,” I continue, trying to work out how to move Aidan. I could go and get help, but then strangers would come into the house, and I can't let that happen.

“Why do you care so much about this stranger, when you couldn't even be bothered to look after
me
?” Father asks.

“I did everything I -”

“Liar!” he screams through my mouth. “You're just a dumb -”

I let out a gasp as I drive the scissors into my arm, but at least the pain pushes Father out of my mind.

“I have to do this,” I whisper. “Aidan...”

Finally, even though I'm not sure I can manage, I reach down and gather Aidan into my arms, and then I lift him so that I can carry him out of the room. My body aches and I'm terrified I might drop him at any moment, but slowly I make it to the landing and over toward the top of the stairs. Each step feels as if it might be my last, yet somehow I manage to keep going on weak, trembling legs.

“Help me,” he whispers, and I can feel him shifting slightly. “Please...”

“I
am
helping you,” I tell him. “It's my fault you're like this, but you're going to be okay. I'm a nurse. I've looked after you and -”

Suddenly a smile cracks across my face.

“I should break your back,” I continue. “I should fucking cripple you.”

I flinch.

“That wasn't me,” I tell him. “Please, you have to understand, it wasn't me, it was...”

How do I explain without sounding like a complete monster?

I have to be very careful as I make my way down the stairs, but eventually I reach the hall. Once I've managed to get the door open, I carry Aidan out into the morning light and take him across the damp, cold lawn. I keep walking until my bare feet reach concrete, at which point I figure I've reached the pavement.

Nearby, hushed voices seem to have noticed me.

“He needs an ambulance,” I explain, before slowly kneeling and setting Aidan down. “He'll be alright. I'm a nurse, but he needs to go to hospital. Please, can someone make sure that he gets help?”

I hear footsteps coming closer.

“Is that Aidan?” a woman asks, her voice filled with shock. “Quick, someone get Monica out here! Tell her Aidan's hurt! Call an ambulance!”

“He's really fine,” I stammer, getting to my feet and stepping back as I hear more footsteps hurrying this way. “He's fine
now
, at least. I patched him up.”

“Aidan, can you hear me?” a man asks. “Jesus, what happened to him?”

I take some more steps back, making my way across the lawn until finally I turn and hurry toward the porch. I miss by several meters and bump against the wall, but it only takes a few more seconds for me to fumble my way over to the front door. Now that I remember what the house used to look like, it's easier to find my way about.

“Hey, wait!” a voice yells. “You! What happened to him? You can't just dump him out here like this!”

“Go fuck yourselves!” I shout back at them, but it's Father using my voice again. “You're lucky there's anything left of him at all!”

“No,” I whisper, scratching my arm in an attempt to bring more pain. “That wasn't me...”

By the time I've made my way back into the house and slammed the door shut, my whole body is trembling. I lean against the door and slide down to the floor, waiting for Father's next words. I can somehow hear him laughing in my head, maybe I can even
feel
him laughing, and there seems to be no way to push him out. At the same time, I can hear voices shouting outside, and a few minutes later there's the distant siren of an ambulance on its way.

“Aidan will be alright,” I whisper, before turning and starting to crawl to the front room.

“Where the hell do you think you're going?” Father asks.

“Piano,” I gasp, figuring that if I can start playing the piano – no matter how out-of-tune it might sound – I should be able to cast Father from my mind. After all, the piano has always soothed me, ever since I was a child.

“You can't play that thing,” he sneers, still speaking through my mouth. “You're deluded.”

“I have to try,” I whisper, making my way across the living room until finally I bump against the stool. Reaching up, I drag myself off the floor and take a seat, and then with trembling hands I open the lid that covers the piano's keys. Immediately starting to play, I hear a godawful cacophony of out-of-tune notes, but at least it's a start.

“Listen to that mess,” Father says, forcing my lips to move. “It sounds like you're torturing the goddamn thing.”

I keep playing, but my hands are shaking and everything sounds wrong.

“Go on, then,” I say out loud, still channeling Father. “Prove me wrong. Make it sound good.”

“I saved Aidan,” I whisper, as I hit a series of wrong notes. “He was dying but I -”

“He was dying because of you in the first place!” I hiss suddenly, as Father's angry tones break back into my voice. “You killed me! Do you really think I'm going to let you get away with that!”

Outside, there's another siren now. Not an ambulance this time. The police, maybe. Coming to take me back to the hospital.

I hit several more wrong notes.

“You're not really here,” I say firmly. “You're just in my mind.”

“And what does that say about you?”

“I can force you out.”

“By cutting yourself over and over,” he sneers, “like some attention-seeking teenager?”

“You're not here,” I whisper again. “You're just in my head.”

“Oh, I'm really here,” he continues, “and I'm never, ever going to leave you alone. For the rest of your miserable life, I'm going to remind you every single day of the things you did to me!”

I try to push him out, to focus on playing, but my fingers are hitting more and more wrong notes. I'm not strong enough to do this.

“At least when I was alive, you could walk away,” my voice sneers. “Now I'm dead, and I'm going to stay with you forever, always taunting you. Always reminding you of your failures.”

There's a sudden knock at the door. It's the police. They probably want to know what I did to Aidan.

“Even when you're rotting in a cell for the rest of your life,” I gasp. “I'll be talking to you. You're so weak, you can't even stop me using your own mouth.”

Reaching down, I take the scissors from my belt.

“And I'll be reminding you, Alice,” I gurgle with a smile, “of all the mistakes and -”

“No,” I say firmly, holding the scissors up. “I won't let you do that. And anyway, my name is Rachel.”

Before I can get another word out, I reach the scissors into the back of my mouth and cut straight through my tongue. A rush of blood erupts, bursting between my lips as I let out a gasp of pain.

Chapter Forty

Rachel - Today

Now my hands are steady again. Now the voice has stopped.

I pick out each note with great care. I appreciate that my playing is by no means perfect, and I know I still have so much to learn, but practice makes perfect and everybody has to begin somewhere. So I take my time, while ignoring the distant sound of armed men breaking down the front door. All that matters is the calming music that brings peace and quiet to the world around me.

As I continue to play, blood starts dribbling down from my face, splattering against the piano's black and white keys.

E
pilogue

Rachel – Two years later

I can hear footsteps in the distance, coming this way, but I pay no attention. Instead, I focus on the sensation of the piano keys beneath my fingertips. Morning sunlight is streaming through the rec room's windows, casting a warm glow across the left side of my face, and most of the other patients are either in therapy sessions or out on the lawn.

They know to leave me alone with the piano when I want to play.

They know I won't hurt anyone if I'm just left here to play.

As I continue to move my hands from key to key, I hear the door squeaking open behind me. I flinch slightly, annoyed that one of the officious thugs would dare disturb me, but I tell myself to simply focus on the notes I'm playing. After all, when I'm at the piano, the rest of the world might as well not exist. This is the only activity that keeps my mind calm.

“Rachel?” one of the orderlies says after a moment. “You have a visitor.”

Ignoring him, I keep my attention focused on the keys. I can't see them, of course, not really, but I can feel them.

“Did you hear me?” he continues. “You have a visitor, Rachel, it's...”

His voice trails off. He sounds a little nervous, and also surprised. I don't blame him. I've never had a visitor, not in all my time in this place.

Focusing on my playing, I listen to the music.

“Rachel,” he says finally, “your mother is here to see you.”

I almost hit a wrong key.

Almost.

“Rachel?” a woman's voice says tentatively. She sounds as if she's close to tears, but – more than that – she sounds so old, as if she's in her seventies or eighties. Nothing like the mother I'd imagined. “Oh my God, is that really you?”

“She never responds to anything anyone says,” the orderly explains, although his voice sounds further away now, pushed back by the music that fills my ears. “She just floats along in her own world. When she's awake, she's either sitting in a therapy session with one of the doctors, or she's here like this. I swear she'd play all night if we let her.”

“Rachel, it's me,” the woman continues, stepping closer. “They found me, Rachel. They told me what happened. I'm so sorry I was never there for you, but your father... I owe you an explanation, but I thought I was doing the right thing by staying out of your life.”

Again, I very nearly hit a wrong key.

“Rachel, look at me. He told me that... Well, there'll be time for that later, but... Don't you recognize me? I'm your mother!”

I feel a faint tightening sensation in my chest, but I quickly push it away and focus instead on the music. The woman is still talking, and the orderly is saying a few things too, but all I hear now is the music. This woman, whoever she is, can't be my mother, not really. My mother is dead, or at least that's what Father always told me. So perhaps she's an impostor, or she's been sent by one of the doctors to trick me, or she's another fantasy brought forth from my fevered imagination. She certainly can't be my mother, though, so I feel it's best to just ignore her.

“Rachel, look at me!” she says firmly, sounding close to tears. “It's me! Look at me!”

I hit two more notes, and then -

Suddenly I feel a hand on my shoulder.

I flinch, and for a moment I stop playing. A slow sense of fury is rising through my chest, filling my soul with anger.

“Take your hand off her, please,” the orderly says, and he sounds worried.

“But she's my -”

“Now!”

I feel the hand behind pulled away, as if the orderly grabbed her wrist and forced her back.

“It's very important that no-one touches her,” he continues. “She really doesn't like it, and when Rachel doesn't like something...”

He pauses.

“Well, we try to avoid those situations,” he adds finally. “That's all.”

I sit in silence for a moment, and then I start playing again. Immediately, all the peace and calm returns to my mind, and I can barely even hear the orderly as he continues to explain things to the woman.

“Maybe I should take you to see Doctor Greene again,” he says finally. “He can explain the whole thing better. Rachel's very difficult to get through to. Impossible, even. She can't see, obviously, and she has no tongue anymore, and she really makes no effort to... Well, like I said, Doctor Greene is the best person to talk to.”

“I'll be back, Rachel,” the old woman continues. “I promise. I won't leave you alone again. I'll help you and make you better.”

I hear them walking away, and I can't help hoping that they won't be back. After all, there's no way that the voice could possibly belong to my real mother, so I figure it was just another fantasy. I need to focus on what's real, and right now the only
real
thing at all is the piano. So long as I'm playing, I can ignore the voices in my head. Sure, I have to endure them at night sometimes, and I even hear Father from time to time, but music mostly holds them all at bay. So long as I can simply sit here and play, I don't think I'll ever get upset again.