Ward 13
Authors: Tommy Donbavand
THE LONER
Squeak. Squeak. Squeak
.
Mark Jackson pulled himself higher against his pillows, all thoughts of achieving the high score on his skateboarding game lost.
The bed was coming back
.
He winced as a dagger of pain shot through the break in his tibia. His science teacher would have been proud to discover that he knew the name of at least one of the bones in his leg â even if it had taken a skate park accident, a plaster cast and now an impending operation for him to learn it.
Squeak. Squeak. Squeak
.
Mark glanced around the faces of his fellow patients in Ward 13. Why weren't they paying attention? Surely they could all hear the squeaking wheel of the bed as it came closer. Surely they had begun to notice the same pattern he hadâ¦
He caught two of the nurses â the one with the curly hair and the one called Helen â sharing a nervous glance. They knew â he was certain of that. That's why he could never get a straight answer out of either of them.
How long had the bed been away? Mark grabbed his PS Vita, closed the game and checked the time. 5.40pm. Almost dinner time. That meant the bed had left the ward just over four hours ago. Four hours. Was that how long it took to complete a hernia operation? Who knew?
SQUEAK. SQUEAK. SQUEAK
.
Mark could hear the porter's shuffling footsteps accompanying the dodgy wheel. The bed was almost here. The bed that, when it had left the ward not long after lunchtime, had contained a patient. An older guy, called Jack. The guy who was suffering with a hernia. The guy who didn't have any family to visit him when the doors to Ward 13 were opened to the public every night.
Jack had been the ringleader of the group he jokingly called âThe Loners'. He had been the one to notice that Mark also sat alone during visiting hours, his head buried in his video game. On Mark's third evening, he had limped across the ward to join him.
“Visiting time again, huh?”
Mark had nodded, barely looking up from his game.
Jack hadn't been put off. “You expecting anyone tonight? Mum, or dad?”
Mark had shaken his head. “Don't have parents.”
“Oh, I'm sorry⦔
“Don't be,” said Mark, looking up at Jack properly for the first time. He glanced at the Royal Navy tattoo on the man's forearm. “I'm not sorry. You don't miss what you've never had.”
“I guess not,” Jack had said. “No other family, then?”
Another shake of the head. “I live in Keating House.”
“The children's home? Down by the High Street?”
“Yep.”
“But you must have carers there?”
Mark had nodded. “They can't leave the other kids to come and sit with me, though. We're short-staffed most of the time.”
“The other kids? Your friends⦔
“Not allowed out after six o'clock â but I'm playing one of them online right now. His name's Liam.”
“Well, I guess that's as good as having a visitor,” Jack had smiled. Then, he'd pushed himself to his feet and started to limp back in the direction of his own bed.
BEEP. Mark had paused the game. “What about you?”
Jack had paused and turned. “Me? No. No one. There was my sister, Elsie â but she's been gone a while now.”
Mark had waved the handheld console in Jack's direction and grinned. “I'll tell Liam you said hello.”
“You do that!”
SQUEAK! SQUEAK! SQUEAK!
Mark could see the shadow of the bed as it approached the entrance to the ward. Just a few hours earlier, Jack had waved groggily to him as he'd been wheeled away for his operation. Now Mark would know whether his suspicions were true, or if he was imagining everything. He screwed his eyes shut and crossed his fingers tightly.
Please please please please please pleaseâ¦
The porter's hands trembled as he turned the bed into Ward 13 and slowly pushed it back to its spot by the far wall.
Mark waited until he could hear the bed passing the end of his, then he forced himself to open his eyes and look.
His skin turned cold.
The bed was empty.
Jack was gone.
THE LIES
“Nurse!”
Mark stabbed repeatedly at the button on his buzzer. Where were all the nurses? This was supposed to be a hospital. What if he had fallen out of bed, or something? Didn't there have to be someone around at all times?
“Nurse!”
Some of the other patients were looking at him now, over the tops of paperback books or around the pages of their newspapers. Mark almost screamed in frustration. Why were they looking
at him when they should have been looking at the empty bed? At Jack's bed!
Eventually, the nurse with the curly hair came hurrying into the ward. “What's the matter, Mark?” she asked, a smile fixed in place. “Got another itch under your cast?”
Mark ignored her question. “Where's Jack?” he demanded. He saw a flash of something behind the nurse's eyes. Anger? Fear? Whatever it was, it was gone as quickly as it had arrived.
The nurse tutted. “Look at the state of your pillows,” she said, pulling Mark upright so that she could rearrange the bedding behind him. “It's no wonder you can't sleep at night if you're losing half your pillows.”
Mark pushed himself back and stared straight at the nurse. “Where is Jack?”
“Oh, I don't know,” said the nurse, avoiding his gaze. “I imagine he's gone home.”
“Home?” repeated Mark. “He's gone home from his hernia operation?”
“People do go home, you know,” snapped the nurse. Now she was busying herself with Mark's sheets. “You will, too â once you've had your op on your leg.”
“How did Jack go home?”
“What's that, now?”
Mark caught the nurse's arm with his hand. She stopped fussing with his bedding and looked down at him. It may have been Mark's imagination, but he thought he could feel her trembling.
“How did Jack go home?”
“I expect one of his family came to collect him,” replied the nurse.
Mark shook his head. “He doesn't have a family. Not since his sister died.”
The nurse gently pulled her arm from Mark's grasp. “That's a shame.” She turned to leave.
“None of them had families.”
The nurse froze. She didn't turn back, but Mark could tell she was listening.
“Since I've been here, eight patients have been taken down from this ward for their operations. Three of them didn't come back. None of those three had family or friends come to visit them in the evenings. They had no one to miss them if they disappeared.”
The telephone began to ring at the nurse's station in the corridor outside.
“I'd better get that,” said the nurse, scurrying away.
Mark settled back against his freshly plumped pillows and watched the porter gather together Jack's belongings from the locker beside the
now-empty bed. His slippers, glasses case, half a bag of wine gums, a copy of the novel
Jaws
⦠He stuffed the items into a black bin liner, then scurried away, eyes nervously darting left and right.
The games console began to PING! repeatedly on the bed beside Mark. He picked it up and studied the screen. It was Liam, demanding a rematch for the high score on the skateboarding game.
Mark tapped âACCEPT' and began to play. The game would be fun, but not the same as having someone come in to sit beside his bed and talk during visiting hours. Like the other Loners, Mark had no one to miss him if he disappeared.
And his operation was set for first thing the following morning.
THE KID
Dinner was disgusting. Worse than the spaghetti bolognese they'd served up the night before.
“Come on, son!” grinned the kitchen attendant through broken teeth. “Get it down you. It'll do you good!”
Mark ran his fork through the soggy mashed potatoes on the plate. They looked horrible enough â and the carrots were as hard as rocks â but it was the chicken breast that really looked as though it had seen better days. And⦠if Mark peered closely⦠he could almost make out some
sort of faint writing on the top of the piece of meat. He could make out a few letters ⦠R⦠O⦠Y⦠Aâ¦
“You're not eating that!” said a voice, and the plate was snatched from his hands.
Mark looked up. The other nurse on duty that night â the one he'd heard others call Helen â was standing beside his bed.
“But, I'm hungry,” Mark moaned. And he was. Even if the food didn't exactly look appetising, he hadn't had a bite to eat since the limp cheese sandwich he'd been given at lunchtime.
