Nevermore, the Complete Series (33 page)

I could faintly hear Salem saying my name, and I turned to look at him. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I'm fine,” I muttered, “just a little nervous, that's all.”

“Don't be,” he smiled, “there's nothing to be anxious about, and I will be with you the whole time.”

I attempted to smile as I left the car and met him on the opposite side. He took my hand and gripped it tightly, reassuringly, and we approached the wrought iron gate. Salem pushed it open and it creaked noisily on its hinges. I felt more like I was headed toward a prison than a mental hospital, which only increased my anxiety.

The rippling water in the fountain was clear and beautiful, trickling down slowly into a pool filled with shimmering coins. Soon our feet met the thin pathway and I could smell the strong, floral aroma coming off of the plants as we passed them. The smell was so strong it was nearly sickening. I took a deep breath when we approached the two doors, and before I had the chance to turn back, Salem had his hands on the handle and was opening it.

We were met immediately by a welcoming breeze that tickled my skin, and I noticed a cooling vent blowing air down from the ceiling. The floor was covered in light green marble tile, aside from the thick black mats we stood on. To the left was a receptionist's desk, and to the right was a row of roughly thirty chairs, a vending machine and a small television perched up on the wall. Behind the desk was a slender, pleasant-looking woman with slightly graying copper hair that she wore up in a neat bun. I cautiously walked up to the desk and she stared at me expectantly through thin-rimmed spectacles. She reminded me all too much of a librarian.

It took me a moment to find my voice, and when I finally did it came out hoarse and mumbled, “I'm here to see a patient.”

“Excuse me?” she said, her voice was somewhat impatient.

“I'm sorry,” I said as I cleared my throat, “I am here to see a patient.”

“Who might you
be seeing?”

“Richard Waldron,” I said with more confidence.

She eyed me awkwardly, and then arched a brow. “Are you sure you have the right name?”

My heart sunk. My assumptions must have been right – he wasn't here anymore, this was a complete waste of time and I was never going to get any answers.

“Yes, she is,” Salem answered for me.

“No one has ever come to visit Mr. Waldron before,” she said in awe.

So, maybe I was wrong.

“Are you a relative?”

“Yes, I'm his granddaughter,” I replied.

“Name, please?”

“Alexis Waldron. Or, it might be listed as Hobbs.”

She nodded and glanced at the computer monitor in front of her. I heard her fingers typing on the keyboard as she looked up the information. “You are indeed listed as his granddaughter,” she said, “Looks like someone called in to add you just yesterday. I will have a nurse sent down to take you to his room.” 

“Thanks...” I said quietly as Salem and I retreated to the opposite side of the room and sat in the waiting area. The TV was so small that I could barely make out the pictures on the screen, and it was muted. There was a stack of magazines on a small table in the corner of the room, but I was never too fond of reading those. I was just glad Paul had apparently remembered to call and add me to the family listing.

“Relax, Alex,” Salem whispered, holding both of my hands now. I hadn't noticed how much I was fidgeting until then. “You have nothing to be worried about.”

“I have a lot to be worried about.”

“No, you don’t,” he smiled. “Trust me.”

Just as I was about to reply again, a short, rotund man with thick, curly ginger hair came through two doors I had previously not noticed. They were to the left of the receptionist desk, leading down a long hallway. He was wearing dark blue scrubs with pictures of fish on the shirt. He said my name as he came through the swinging doors and I hesitantly got up.

“You are here to see Mr. Waldron?” he asked in a quiet, boyish voice.

“I am,” I replied. Salem and I followed him through the white doors. We walked down the hallway, passing a restroom and two doors, one of which read “Employees Only”, then came upon an elevator and a staircase.

The nurse – whose name tag read 'John' – clicked the up arrow beside the elevator doors and we stood in silence, waiting. The doors slid open and the three of us entered. I felt increasingly more nervous the closer we got to the top floor, and was positive I was going to throw up when the doors flew open. Salem gripped my hand tightly again as we walked onto the white, glossy linoleum floor of the upper level. I swallowed back the oncoming bile and examined my new surroundings.

We were in the center of a long, wide room. I could see some of the barred windows overlooking the backside of the building. All that I could see through them was a set of patio furniture and even more grass. At the very end of the room, to our left, were another small television and a wooden table. On the table sat a pile of three or four board game boxes and sitting beside them were two patients playing with cards. To the right was a wall of closed doors on each side, another restroom, and at the very end there appeared to be a turn that undoubtedly led to even more rooms.

“Mr. Waldron is one of our more eccentric patients,” John said as he led us down the hall of doors and around the bend. “He has been with us for several years without a visitor, which is a shame. He seems like a nice enough man, even if the things he says are a little off the wall sometimes. I am his usual nurse, and even though he talks about supernatural things all the time, he never seems to be quite as...loopy...as the rest of the folk here.”

“I don't believe he is crazy at all,” I replied, “if you ask me, it was all a misunderstanding.”

“You might change your mind after you meet him. Like I said, he is nice and seems stable, but he does talk about some strange stuff,” The man said, stopping abruptly at a door with the number ’33 D’ etched into the wood. There was a small peep hole below the digits. John knocked lightly and waited for a response.

Now was the time to really panic. My grandfather was behind this door. What was he going to be like? Would he like me, would he approve of Salem? “Oh, no...” I gasped in realization.

“What's the matter?” John asked, eying me curiously.

“It's nothing,” I said, although both the nurse and Salem were aware that I was lying. I could feel sweat trickling down my forehead. There was no doubt in my mind that my grandfather would recognize Salem for what he was. I was a fool to have brought him here! “S-salem...do you think you could wait out here, until I’ve talked to him a little bit?”

“Of course,” he replied, “I understand.”

He smiled and despite his eagerness to please me, it almost made me feel worse. Salem stepped aside and leaned against the wall beside the door. I heard the door creak open and unintentionally stared at the man before me – he returned the gaze.

“Afternoon, Richard,” John said calmly, smiling warmly at the old man, “You have a visitor!”

The old man standing in the doorway looked surprisingly familiar. His eyes were so much like Kim's, it was uncanny. It was hard to believe he was Paul's father, considering how tall and bulky Paul was, whereas this man was short, maybe my height, and gauntly thin. He wore gray sweatpants and a plain white t-shirt that hung loosely around his brittle frame. There was receding gray and bronze hair atop his scalp and I would have guessed he was in his mid-sixties or late seventies. He looked stern, cautious and also curious.

“Who is she?” he asked in a suspicious voice, directed toward John.

“You may have trouble believing this, but she is listed as your granddaughter,” the nurse replied, “your son's kid.”

My grandfather's eyes sunk and he shook his head in disbelief. “Paul told me he couldn't handle taking care of a kid after that wife of his died, and put her up for adoption.”

“Well, she’s found you somehow, she’s on the list,” John replied with somewhat of a pleased smile.

“Paul’s actually the one who sent me here,” I finally spoke, and our eyes met again.

“Hm,” The old man said and suddenly smiled, “you do look a lot like Destiny.”

“Paul…dad…told me the same,” I replied awkwardly. I wish I had gotten the opportunity to know the woman that gave birth to me. “I was hoping we could have some time to chat.”

“Of course. That would be great,” he said, then looked at John. “Could I have my hour of outdoor time now instead of the usual?”

“Of course,” the nurse smiled, “I’ll come get you when time is up.”

I watched John walk down the linoleum toward the elevator and disappear. “Where did you have in mind?” I asked.

“I usually spend it out on the lawn,” Richard replied, “but first, if you don't mind...” He reached his frail arms out and hugged me. “You cannot imagine how long I have waited for this day.”

I laughed gingerly and hugged him back, “I didn't even know you existed until a few days ago...but I’m happy to know you do.”

He smiled a big, toothy grin and took my hand. I no longer felt quite as nervous, until we turned to walk away from the door and I knew Salem would be standing there.
But, as I turned around I was shocked to find the area vacant. Where could he have gone? I hoped quietly that my grandfather didn't notice the look of displeasure.

We walked slowly across the room and I was once again enveloped in the tiny elevator box. I hit the button for the first floor and waited as we went down. The doors opened and we were in the lobby. Another set of doors that I had not noticed the first time were revealed at the back of the waiting room area.

“This leads out back,” the old man said and pushed them open.

We walked to the patio furniture and sat down. I noticed this was not the only set of furniture; there were at least four others along the field. There were other patients outside, all of them supervised by a nurse. I noticed with excitement and understanding that Salem was out here – not only could I smell him, but I could see his distinct shape amongst a row of rose bushes up against the fence that enclosed the place. He must have heard Richard's request and rushed out here ahead of us.

“So tell me about you,” the old man said eagerly, leaning across the table and perching his head in his hands.

“There isn't much to tell really,” I shrugged, “I’m just Alex…your average teenager...with a twist.” I grimaced.

“Paul talked you into being a hunter,” he stated, no hint of questioning in his voice. “It's a shame. He lost his wife and mother to it, and now he’s risking his daughter, too.”

“It was my choice,” I said in Paul's defense, “I sort of didn't have much other option.”

“What do you mean?” he stared inquisitively at me.

“I'm sure you have heard rumor of some of our ancestors being able to become ravens...” I spoke quietly, with my head down.

To my surprise, he slammed a fist against the table. “Nonsense!”

“No, it's true...”

He shook his head. “No, I believe that, what I don’t believe is that he could get you into this mess...willingly!”

“I had my reasons, trust me.”

“There are no good enough reasons to do this by choice,” he frowned at me, making his wrinkles more evident. “Why’d you come here anyway? Just letting me know I had another relative who’s bound to get themselves killed?”

“No…I wanted to come and tell you that I don't think you’re crazy, and I don’t believe that you deserve to be here,” I said, avoiding his question.

He smiled. “I want to be here, regardless if I truly need to be or not. It protects me from them, and from my urge to go hunting still.”

“You...you want people to think you are insane?”

“I don't so much like that part of it, but it is so freeing!” he laughed, “That is why I had Veronica Dillard convince everyone I had attacked her.”

I stared at him in disbelief, “Veronica Dillard? Who is that?”

“She was an old friend of your grandmother's. She thinks the reason I wanted admitted here was because I was grieving over Samantha's death and wanted to be taken care of, and that I had some underlying issues with depression...which isn't entirely a lie.”

Samantha – I wondered what my grandmother had been like, it was almost as troubling as never knowing my real mother.

“Paul thinks you are crazy, and fears you aren’t the person he used to know...that is why he never visits.”

He shrugged, “I’m not surprised. It might be better that way. The less involvement I have with vampires and hunting, the better.”

I sighed and he noticed the dissatisfied look on my face. “I guess I might have come out here for nothing, then.”

“What did you come all this way for, Alex? I don’t believe for a second it was just to meet me,” his voice had grown serious.

“I'm not entirely who you think I am…or what you think I am.”

He eyed me with a curious arch of his shaggy graying eyebrows, “Well, you’re not a vampire, that’s for sure. So what are you talking about? Spit it out.”

“No. I'm not a vampire, but I'm not...” I exhaled slowly, “I'm not completely human, either and you may be the only one that can help me...”