“I’ll see you tomorrow, Stephanie. Say hi to your mother for me.”
“I will.”
I hang up.
TWENTY-EIGHT
1979
Inside the hospital, the smell of cleaner barely masks worse smells that lurk underneath. Not so long ago, the building that houses the hospital had been a part of the nearby convent, and much of the staff still consists of bonnes soeurs who help take care of the patients. Such hospitals are already becoming something of a relic, but Laura has no way of knowing that. She walks briskly through the main hall, determined to attract as little attention as she can. That would be something of a feat because her black clothes, all ripped, make her stand out in sharp contrast to the white walls, floor, and ceiling. And although she doesn’t notice it in the mental state she’s in, she’s leaving a trail of dirty tracks behind her. But she’s lucky. Except for a nurse or two hurrying along the hall, there don’t seem to be many people here today.
She walks past the room dedicated to prayer, with an altar at the other end and pews that are empty at this hour. Candles flicker weakly, and the warm smell of melting wax that wafts out at her as she passes the open door reminds her of the church, and of her promise. She grits her teeth, her hands clenching into fists inside her pockets.
She’s already here, and she’s not leaving until she does what she came here to do.
It takes a long time of wandering the hallways until she finds him. He’s got his own room near the end of a hallway on the second floor. Laura peers inside, past the door and past the curtain that she nervously tugs aside.
Her first glimpse of him is a shock. At first, she thinks she might be in the wrong room and that this can’t possibly be Tony. But the name on the chart at the foot of the bed is his, even though there’s no recognizable Tony Bergmann in that bed. Bandages cover most of his head, and what flesh she can see is bluish red. There are all kinds of machines that beep alarmingly. His condition must be pretty rough indeed.
For a moment, she holds on to that hope. There’s no need for her to do anything because he’s going to die on his own. Then she steels herself. She can’t afford to take the chance.
How is she going to do it? It didn’t occur to her to think about it until now. She could smother him. But there’s nothing in this room except the bed and the body on it and the machines.
Laura hesitates. She hesitates for a few moments too long because, in that moment, she hears voices down the hall.
Panic-stricken, she makes for the door. The voices and steps grow closer. Any moment now whoever is coming will turn the corner of the winding hallway and see her. The hallway ends with a heavy fire escape door that will probably activate an alarm if Laura tries to make her getaway through it.
Left without much of a choice, she simply ducks into the next room.
For once, she’s in luck. It’s empty, the bed stripped and the window cracked open to air the place out, which does nothing to diminish the smell of bleach wafting off the recently washed floor. Laura briefly wonders whether someone just died in this room. Goose bumps race up her arms.
In the hallway, she hears the nurses approaching. At least she guesses they’re nurses because both voices belong to women: One sounds young and a little shrill, the other, husky-voiced, like she’s not opposed to sneaking a cigarette or two between her shifts.
“It’s terrible,” the shrill one says. “Terrible what’s been happening. First, all these dead animals, and now this.”
“If you ask me,” grouses the other voice, “that’s the culprit right there.”
“Don’t say that!” The younger woman sounds like she’s only trying to be scandalized for propriety’s sake. There’s little energy or conviction behind the words. “He’s just a teenager. You don’t believe these crazy tales, do you?”
“Oh, he’s rotten all right,” says the smoker. “Young, but rotten. He’s a Bergmann, after all, so who’s surprised?”
“Please don’t let the doctor hear you say that,” says the younger nurse, lowering her voice.
“Oh, please. The doctor knows. Everyone knows. There’s something wrong with these people. You’ve been working here for how long? Six months? Then you don’t know. I’ve lived in this town my whole life. I remember when this one right here was just a kid. Him and his brother. The Bergmanns used to be a respectable family. It’s all that woman’s fault.”
“What woman?”
“Watch who you marry, that’s all I’m saying. She brought a curse on them all. Sophie. Pierre’s wife.”
“The one who disappeared?”
The smoker snorts. “Disappeared? Now who’s listening to crazy tales. She had a lover, everyone knows that, and she ran off with him. Simple as.”
“Who?”
“Who what?”
“Who was the lover?”
The smoker answers with a chuckle. “How am I supposed to know? Someone from out of town, probably.”
“How would that be possible? The nearest town—”
The older woman sighs. “Where there’s a will, there’s a way, they say. Especially if you’re a malicious, ill-bred strumpet.”
“But wouldn’t someone at least have an idea who the lover was?”
“You think too much. Anyone ever tell you that? A girl could get in trouble, thinking too much. Well, you know what, Miss Smartypants? There is proof that she had a lover. Someone saw her right here at this hospital. A few weeks before she ran off, she came here. I knew the nurse who saw her. She’s retired now but she told me this herself. Sophie came here complaining of stomach cramps. Stomach cramps! Do you know what that means?”
“That she had stomach cramps?”
“You and your smart mouth. I say that lover got her pregnant or gave her one of those diseases. And so she decided to make a run for it.”
“Or maybe she just had stomach cramps,” the younger woman says. “Appendicitis?”
“Oh?” The smoker is triumphant. “If it was appendicitis, why did she walk right out of the hospital before a doctor could even see her? Do many people do that with appendicitis?”
“I don’t know,” the younger woman admits, defeated. “And even if so, what does her son have to do with it? He might not make it. Poor child.”
