Miss Hawthorne Sits for a Spell Page 4

  “It’d be quicker to walk the stairs,” Mrs Pettigrew muttered as the bell dinged for their floor.

  Emily lifted her eyebrows but didn’t comment. If they’d taken the manual option, she’d still be struggling up the first flight. Being able to float around wherever she pleased had cut down on Cynthia’s capacity to judge other’s limitations.

  As the doors opened, a figure pushed inside, and Emily gave a cry of surprise. Common courtesy dictated the person waiting should step back to let her out, but she recovered and shook her head in recrimination as she walked into the corridor.

  It was only as the lift doors closed that she recognised the young man, adorned with tattoos, who’d she’d encountered at the auction house a day ago. He was staring at the floor, grimacing, and Emily turned away before he could look up and recognise her.

  “Rude,” Cynthia said, giving a snort. “I thought Gregory could be bad but compared to the rest of his generation, I raised a proper gentleman.”

  “You did,” Emily agreed. With every conversation she shared with Gregory at work, she liked the young man a little more.

  “This is the one.” Wanda stopped by a door and stuck her head inside the room. “It has a sign out saying not to enter until you check with the desk staff.

  Emily nodded her understanding, not wanting to risk her voice. She clutched her elbows in each hand while trotting along the corridor. Speed made her hip ache, but the physical pain was easier than the damage caused by multiple withdrawals from her memory bank.

  “Miss Hawthorne is going through her morning routine at the moment,” the desk nurse said with a smile. “She’ll be finished up in ten minutes or so. There’s a room down the end of the corridor if you’d like to wait.”

  Emily traced the path with her eyes but stayed standing by the desk. “There was a young man just here, covered with tattoos and with some burn scars on one arm. Could you tell me who he was visiting?”

  The nurse’s expression didn’t change as she stared back, not speaking for a full minute. “Why don’t you ask him yourself, if you’re acquainted?”

  “Oh, hm. I was just wondering. I don’t know him that well.”

  “So, you wouldn’t like me to give him a call when you leave and tell him everything you got up to here?”

  Point taken. The shame of asking something she shouldn’t compounded her nervousness. After a swallow that took all her concentration, Emily mouthed her thanks and followed the directions to the waiting room at the end of the hall.

  “What on earth does a morning routine entail?” Cynthia asked, hands on her hips. She stared at the coffee machine with a petulant frown.

  “I really don’t want to know,” Emily said, her vocal cords as stiff as concrete.

  One glance at the window told her not to bother seeking a view. They were on the third floor, and the cleaners obviously didn’t get around this side of the complex much. Dust from the everlasting Christchurch rebuild caked the glass, turning it opaque.

  A trail of liquid gleamed on the floor, but Emily turned her face away from that, too, not wanting to inspect it enough to determine its origin. The sharp tang of antiseptic warred with a floral air freshener plugged into a nearby socket.

  “I might go and check on her, first.” Wanda retreated a few steps towards the doorway. “See that they’re taking care of her.”

  Emily opened her mouth to warn her not to—nothing good would come of sneaking in before they should—then she closed it again with a snap as a fellow visitor came into the room. She nodded at the new arrival instead and pulled at her lips with her right hand, a game to stop her accidentally talking to her invisible companions.

  “She’s asking for trouble,” Cynthia commented with a raised eyebrow.

  Why don’t you go and stop her, then?

  Emily settled for a shake of her head, clamping her lips even tighter together.

  “You here for family?” the stranger asked, a forced smile testing the muscles of her jaw.

  “A friend.” Emily returned her gaze to the window, not wanting to engage in conversation. Even when she heard the woman sniffing, she didn’t turn around to look.

  I’d rather be anywhere but here.

  And why should she be? Emily jerked as the thought hit and clutched her handbag tighter. This was her birthday and so far, it had brought nothing but trouble and upset. She should leave, go get that cake and spend the afternoon at the beach, or the roller derby if her co-worker Pete was competing today.

  “Sheryl’s ready for you, now,” a nurse said from the doorway. Emily waited for the other woman to respond, then realised the words were directed at her.

  See? You haven’t even bothered to find out the name of Wanda’s sister. This is a foolish idea.

  Of course, it was foolish. Emily struggled to her feet and followed the nurse out of the room. It was just as foolish to believe she could see ghosts or sort out their troubles so they could move onto the next realm.

  “Do you think they deliberately choose this shade of pastel green to encourage patients out of here?” Cynthia asked with a delicate curl of her upper lip.

  A pity that sometimes they came back from that realm and took up residence in her house.

  “She can hear you,” the nurse said as they reached Sheryl Hawthorne’s room. Wanda hovered inside, near the window. “Don’t worry about sounding silly if you talk aloud. It’ll be a comfort to the patient and none of the nurses are listening.” She gave a laugh that boomed out from her abdomen. “We’ve got far too much work to eavesdrop on chats with our long-term residents.”

  “Hello, Sheryl,” Emily said dutifully, sitting beside the bed and taking the young woman’s hand in hers. The skin had a dull shine and felt smooth to the touch. As she stared at the limp fingers, fearful memories prodded at her battered brain, trying to escape.

  “I don’t know what this visit is meant to tell you.” Cynthia leaned over the patient, staring with intensity at the woman’s closed eyes. “Boo!”

  No response. Even the heart-rate monitor just continued its steady beeping.

  “It’d be nice if you could behave yourself while you’re in here,” Emily told the ghost, keeping her eyes fixed on the comatose woman in case the nurse came sneaking back. “Would you like to tell your sister anything, Wanda?”

  “It’s no use talking to that thing.” Wanda had stayed in position, a metre and a half back from the bed. “It’s not my sister. I told you her essence is stuck in the puzzle box.” She waved a hand over the still body. “This is just an empty container.”

  The description was so apt, Emily felt sorrow wash over her. Like a tin that all the humanity had been tipped out of, its purpose finished as soon as the contents spilled.

  “I thought I was saving her,” Wanda said, her face flushed with sadness. “But I can’t get her out and all our stuff’s missing…” She gulped as the full import of the situation hit her.

  “We’ll find your spell book,” Emily said in as comforting a tone as she could manage. If the outer hallways had creeped her out with their memories, the sterility of the room was pushing her close to madness.

  “Hocus Pocus.” Cynthia sniffed and prodded Sheryl’s lifeless body. “If her head’s been banged up in a car accident, no ritual’s going to bring her back.”

  Emily’s fingers crept up to trace the scar on her cheek, a shudder worming the length of her spine. She pulled the puzzle box out of her handbag and set it on the bedside table, one finger resting lightly on the top. “We’ll try, whether you’re going to help or not.”

  The heart-rate monitor caught a faster rhythm. As Emily stared at the flashing numbers on the screen, she could see them changing shape, even if she couldn’t interpret the meaning.

  “Move it closer,” Cynthia demanded.

  For a second, Emily couldn’t work out what she meant, then followed the ghost’s nod to the puzzle box. With a frown, she placed it on the pillow instead, still keeping her forefinger touched to the varni
shed surface.

  The devices leapt again, the audible trace sounding a second before the screen started to flash a faster beat.

  “Whatever else is going on, your sister really responds to that toy,” Cynthia said with a sniff, tilting her head in the slightest concession that Wanda might be telling the truth.

  “I wonder how it’s connected?” Emily placed the puzzle right above Sheryl’s heart, nestling it down into the stiff hospital covers. “Perhaps we can get whatever’s trapped here back into her—”

  The machines sounded a shrill warning. Confused, Emily pulled back, dropping the wooden toy into her bag and holding her hands up to either side as a nurse rushed into the room.

  “Cardiac arrest,” the nurse said, staring at the array of flashing lights on the different sections of the machine.

  “Are you going to call the crash cart?” Emily said when the nurse made no further movements, and the woman shook her head.

  “This patient’s DNR. If you want to say goodbye, now would be the time to do it.”

  “DNR?” Wanda asked, her voice tight with panic.

  “Do not resuscitate,” Cynthia explained with a shrug. “I guess your sister’s a goner. Unless you’ve got a magic spell up your sleeve.”

  Chapter Six

  “No,” Wanda shouted. “You have to do something.” She stepped forward, her hands plunging through her sister’s chest as she tried to pump Sheryl’s failing heart back to life.

  The panic was contagious. Emily’s own heart skipped a beat, then thumped like a fist pounding inside her chest as it caught up again. “Help her,” she said to the nurse, her voice rising in tone and volume. “You can’t just stand there and let her die.”

  But the nurse shook her head, standing firm. “We can’t,” she said in a voice so calm it edged into serenity. “The patient’s family made it quite clear there were to be no rescue attempts.”

  “What family?” Wanda shouted. She walked up to the nurse, yelling the question into her face. “I’m her only family and I say to revive her, right now.”

  The monitor gave another faint beep as Sheryl’s pulse caught, then faltered again.

  “Save her. I’m ordering you right now as next of kin. If you let her die, I’ll have the police charge you with murder!”

  As if she caught an echo of the distressed ghost’s words, the nurse took a step back, sweeping a hand over her face. “She isn’t feeling any pain. It’s time to let her go.”

  With Wanda yelling in one ear and even Cynthia appearing disturbed, Emily leapt onto the bed. She’d been the office Health and Safety officer at her accounting firm for ten years running. Though her first aid certificate might have lapsed a year ago, she still remembered what to do.

  The nurse was shouting now, but over the cacophony of noise that Wanda and Cynthia produce, Emily couldn’t understand her. She felt along Sheryl’s sternum and counted four finger widths up from the base. With her hands clasped together, she leaned her whole weight onto the supine woman’s chest.

  Her mind couldn’t remember the song they’d been taught to sing to keep the right rhythm, so Emily just went as fast as she could. The nurse gripped her shoulder, but she threw her weight back to get rid of the grip and continued.

  The tube inserted in Sheryl’s mouth meant Emily didn’t need to worry about pausing to give breaths. As her arms shook from the strain of pumping, she concentrated solely on the movement, hoping the faint crackle reverberating from the patient wasn’t a breaking rib.

  “I’m calling the police. This is straight assault,” the nurse cried, loud enough to be heard over Wanda’s screams of encouragement. “Stop it right now!”

  “If you touch me,” Emily struggle to say between pants, “it’s also an assault.”

  The nurse retreated. Emily could sense her standing behind her, but at least she didn’t grab for her again. The rhythm of her compressions continued, sweat forming from the continuing exertion, her breath hot in her lungs.

  A beep came from the monitor again, then a frantic series of them, chasing each other in a pattern far too quick to be healthy. Emily gasped, a sob caught in the back of her throat as she continued to pump her arms, nearing exhaustion.

  How long had it been? One minute? Ten? She was so dreadfully weak these days, Emily couldn’t be sure. Her mind was swamped with the command to keep going, to save the woman’s life.

  A spurt of electricity zapped past her face. Behind her, a woman screamed.

  Emily turned, flicking her sweat sodden curls out of her eyes to see. Wanda held an arm out, stiff as a board, pointing her forefinger straight at the machines hooked to her sister.

  With an instinct for survival, Emily launched herself off Sheryl, getting caught in the covers as she fell to the side of the bed. An arch of electricity crackled through the air, filling it with the strange scent of ozone.

  Sheryl’s body jumped. The nurse had backed so far across the room she was almost out the door. She screamed again.

  Footsteps pounded along the hallway as Emily untangled herself from the bedding. She stood just in time for another nurse to burst into the room.

  “She’s a witch,” the first nurse shrieked, pointing a shaking finger at Emily.

  Cynthia leaned over Sheryl’s body, dragged with the bedding so it was now at the edge of the bed. “That was actually quite impressive,” she said with a nod to Wanda. “Perhaps you are magic, after all.”

  Emily staggered back a few steps as the room filled with more people, collapsing onto the windowsill as though it were a seat.

  “Call the police,” the first nurse managed to shout. “And don’t let that woman leave here, she’s under a citizen’s arrest.”

  Her finger pointed straight at Emily.

  Sergeant Winchester shook his head and sighed. “It’s not a joke. What you did is considered battery and is punishable under the law.”

  Although Emily hadn’t been able to stop the nurse calling law enforcement, she had managed to convince her to contact the Pinetar station rather than Christchurch central. If she hadn’t, she might have been having a very different experience right now.

  “But I revived her!” Emily bit her lip, chewing away the smile that had been sitting there. Although the police had collected her from the hospital and transported her to the station without delay, the entire incident seemed backwards.

  “You went against the family’s wishes.” The sergeant pressed his fingertips up to his temple and winced. “When there’s a DNR in place, any attempt to revive the patient is considered an assault against the person.”

  “Then the entire matter is ridiculous.” Emily sat back in her chair, tipping her chin up in defiance. “Besides, I’d like to know what family these wishes belong to. As far as I know, the only family Sheryl Hawthorne possessed was a sister who died in a car accident. Who’s been making these orders?”

  Sergeant Winchester shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m just passing along the information the hospital gave me. Unless you have some evidence to say they’re mistaken, then I’d rather concentrate on what to do with you, than who is making the decisions as Miss Hawthorne’s medical proxy.”

  “What you should do is send me home.” Emily massaged her right shoulder, which was throbbing. “It feels like I’ve gone a few rounds in the boxing ring and with someone in a seriously different weight class.”

  “It’s not that easy. We’ll have to pass the case along to the prosecution service, but they might want to make a show of you. It’s not just Miss Hawthorne who’s affected by your actions.” He tapped a pen on his blotter and stared hard at Emily. “The patient you assaulted is an organ donor.”

  Emily’s indignation disappeared as though sucked out by a giant vacuum. “I didn’t know that.”

  “What I’d like to understand is how you knew this young woman at all. Why were you at the hospital today? The nursing staff said they’d never seen you there before.”

  “I was asked to visit her by a friend. The
y wanted to ensure Sheryl was being treated okay.”

  “A live friend or a dead one?”

  Emily’s gaze fell on a rubber plant, perched against the wall. The tips of its leaves were browning. “Does it matter?”

  “Probably not.” The sergeant leaned back in his chair, swinging it back and forth so his foot bumped up against the inside of his desk well. “The hospital told me there’s a little girl waiting on a heart transplant. Without a donor, she mightn’t make it through the night.”

  “Then they’re pulling at your heart strings, trying to make their point.” Emily folded her arms across her chest. “It’s just as likely the little blip in Miss Hawthorne’s heart rhythm was caused by the excitement of our visit, and if we’d never gone there at all, everything would’ve turned out the same.”

  “Our visit, huh?”

  A flush spread up Emily’s throat. “Just a slip of the tongue. If I wanted to find out who’s making medical decisions on Sheryl’s behalf, how would I find that out?”

  “You wouldn’t. It’s private.”

  A beep sounded from Sergeant Winchester’s computer and his attention turned to the screen for a minute. “You’ve got a reprieve,” he said, standing. “We’ve got an urgent call out. Get home and don’t leave town and I’ll let you know if we’re pressing charges.”

  “Like I have anywhere to go.” Emily stood up, disappearing out of the sergeant’s line of sight before he changed his mind. As she stood outside, blinking in the sun, she realised her car was still back at the hospital.

  She pulled the phone out of her pocket, frowning as the two police cars in the car park took off with a squeal of tyres.

  Agnes Myrtle from the Stoneybrook Acres Retirement Village had programmed in a number for the local Uber driver, bypassing the app so she wouldn’t have to pay the Uber rates. After arranging for a pickup, Emily sat on the bench outside the station.

  “Happy birthday to me,” she sang off-tune for the benefit of her ghostly companions. “This is what you get for turning fifty-three.”