Authors: Amy Cross
Alice - Twenty years ago
Sitting alone in the dark kitchen, I listen to the silence and realize that he's finally asleep.
It's late, and the woman from the hospital is due early tomorrow. I should go to bed and get some rest, but I'm wide awake and my mind is racing. If I try to sleep in this state, one of two things will happen. Either I'll toss and turn all night, or I'll end up having the same nightmares as usual. At least if I stay awake, there's no danger that I'll cry out.
If I cry out, Father will hear, and then he'll make fun of me again. Or worse. Nights with him in this house are much, much worse than days. But even while he's asleep, his voice is echoing through my mind.
“Your mistake killed that boy! Everyone knows it's your fault he died!”
“It's my fault,” I whisper. “I -”
Before I can finish, I hear the faintest creaking sound from the hallway. I sit completely still, but I know what I'll see if I turn and look over my shoulder. I'll see the child's dead eyes staring back at me.
Rachel - Today
“One more time, Rachel.”
“Mum, I -”
“One more time. Just so I know you've got it straight.”
I can't help sighing as I sit on my bed.
“Three steps to the door,” I tell her, “and then turn left, and -”
“Not right.”
“Right.”
“No,
not
right.”
“That's what I meant. Left.”
“Exactly.”
“Got it. Right.”
“No, Rachel -”
“That was a joke,” I continue, realizing that it probably wasn't very funny. “Never mind. I know to turn left.”
“Because if you turn right, you might fall down the stairs.”
“I'm not going to turn right,” I remind her, “so I'm not going to fall down the stairs. I'm going to turn left and walk straight ahead until I reach the door, and then I'm at the bathroom, and then I can do my tinkle like a good little girl. And even though I'm blind, I think I might be able to wipe myself too! Ain't I smart?”
“Okay.” She pauses. “Maybe one more time, just to -”
“It's not a goddamn maze!” I hiss. “I can find my way to the toilet! Why are you treating me like a baby?”
I feel the bed shift slightly as she sits next to me. Once again, I've allowed my frustration to boil over. I hate it when I start acting all sarcastic, but sometimes I just can't help myself. The worst part is, Mum is only trying to help me, and this whole situation is really tough for her. Maybe tougher than it is for me. I can already hear the strain and worry in her voice.
“Rachel -”
“Aren't you going to be late for work?” I ask. “Where'd you say you were going again? The old phone exchange building? That's on the other side of town, you should get going.”
“My bus leaves in five minutes, but the stop's almost right outside. I just... Rachel, I want you to know that I wouldn't be going out to work tonight if it wasn't vital. I love you so much, and -”
“I get that,” I tell her. “Please, don't bore me with another of your guilt-laden apologies.” I flinch, realizing that I've been too harsh again. “I didn't mean that,” I add. “I'm sorry, I just feel absolutely fine here. I've got everything I need, and I'll still be right here in the morning when you get back. Plus...”
Leaning across the bed, I fumble for a moment until I feel the familiar handle of my baseball bat.
“I've got Batty, remember?”
“And you promise you won't go exploring?”
For some reason, those five words send a shudder through my chest and bring tears to my eyes. “No,” I reply, “I won't go exploring. You won't get back at 6am and find me at the bottom of the stairs with a broken neck.”
I wait, and a moment later she leans closer, kissing my forehead.
“I'm a bad mother,” she whispers.
“No, you're not,” I tell her. “It's not your fault you have to work, and it's not your fault you have a daughter who -”
“It's okay, Rachel.”
“I know you blame me.”
“Honey -”
“It's my fault I'm blind,” I continue. “I can't blame anyone else. The accident would never have happened if -”
Suddenly she places a finger against my lips, and I fall silent.
“The past is the past,” she says softly, and I can hear from her tone of voice that she's close to tears. “Remember what I told you at the hospital? If you dwell on things that happened earlier, you'll end up in a bad place. Believe me, I know from experience what it's like to let regrets fester in your mind. You need to focus on the future.”
I want to point out that I don't have much of a future, but this time – miraculously – I manage to keep my goddamn smart-ass mouth shut. I guess that's progress.
“I'll be back at six,” she continues, kissing me again before getting to her feet. “Stay out of trouble.”
“I'm sorry,” I tell her.
“For what?”
“For being a complete and utter bitch.”
“Rachel -”
“I know I've been a bitch to you today,” I continue, feeling close to tears. “I guess it's my way of coping, but I want you to know that I don't mean it. I'm really gonna try not to let it happen again, but if it does, you should just slap me. Okay?”
Silence, and then she steps closer. A moment later, she kisses me on the forehead.
“I really appreciate everything you do for me,” I add, still holding back tears. “I'll stop being ratty. I promise.”
“Don't be so hard on yourself,” she replies, kissing the top of my head before taking a step back. “You've been through so much, Rachel.”
“That's no excuse for being mean to you. I'm really sorry, Mum.”
“Forget it. I don't think I even noticed, anyway.”
“Have fun cleaning empty offices,” I mutter as I hear her heading to the door. Suddenly I want her to stay, but I know I can't put her under that kind of pressure. Instead, I need to sound brave and carefree. After all, if I fake bravery for a while, eventually I'll
be
brave. That's the theory I've been running with since I left the hospital, and it's worth sticking to for a while yet. “I'm gonna have a ball while you're out!” I call after her. “Really, it's
me
who feels sorry for
you
!”
A few minutes later, once she's spent some time running around searching for all the stuff she needs, I hear the front door opening and then slamming shut, and I realize she's finally gone.
I sit in silence, listening to the house. Suddenly I realize that I forgot to ask about the light, which means I have no idea whether the light-bulb here in my bedroom has been left on or off. Not that it matters, of course, but I'd still like to know. It's probably on. She used to leave it on before.
“Okay,” I mutter finally, leaning forward and fumbling until I find my laptop. “Time to find out what happened in this house, and who lived here before us.”
Alice - Twenty years ago
“What did you give him?” Doctor Ames shouts, as he frantically checks the bottles on the trolley. “Alice! What the hell did you give the boy in room five?”
“His medicine,” I stammer, trying not to panic as I listen to the sound of the resuscitation efforts. “I only gave him -”
“His medicine is right here!” he yells, pointing at a set of pills. “That's what you were supposed to give him!”
“Then...”
Pausing, I try to work out what I did wrong. I gave all the patients their medicine, and I was so careful to make sure that I didn't make a mistake. I counted everything out and double-checked, triple-checked even, but clearly somehow I made a mistake. My mind is racing, but I'm sure I followed all the usual steps.
“There are some blood-thinners missing!” he says after a moment, turning to me with shock in his eyes. “Please, tell me you didn't give him those blood-thinners! Not after the operation he had last night.”
Pushing past me, he runs out of the office and through to the patient's room.
“It's the amilocyclin!” he shouts to the others. “Blood-thinners! They must have reacted with the morphine, and I think they've set off his allergies too! He's going to bleed out if we don't do something fast!”
With tears in my eyes, I hurry after him, although I stop as soon as I see the other nurses desperately trying to get a tube down the boy's throat. His whole body is shuddering violently and there's blood not only all over his chin but soaking through his bed-sheets too. With each passing second, his body seems to buck and jolt harder than ever, and two nurses are having to hold him down as another tries to get a needle into his arm.
“Why the hell was he given amilocyclin?” another doctor shouts.
“It was a mistake!” Doctor Ames yells as he grabs a needle from the trolley. “One of the nurses screwed up!”
“What did you do?” asks Angela Ajo, one of the other nurses, as she steps up behind me.
“I... I think I...”
“Did you give him the wrong medicine?” she continues. “Alice, please tell me you didn't do that...”
“She did,” another voice whispers, “and now I'm dead.”
Turning, I find Anthony staring at me. His eyes are so calm, but his flesh is pale yellow and there's blood all over his chin.
“You killed me,” he says calmly, taking a step closer. “You're so stupid, you made a mistake and now I'm dead. You're a nurse, you were supposed to look after me, but instead you did this.”
“No,” I stammer, stepping back as tears stream down my face, “I didn't, I... I mean, I...”
“Do you know how much it hurt as blood leaked out through my stomach and my liver failed?” he asks. “Do you even know what real pain feels like? Even when they were trying to save me, when they were shoving that tube down my throat and all the blood was flowing out through the stitches in my belly, I could hear them yelling at each other. And then when they tried to open the stitches so they could take another look at the wound, the pain was like nothing I could ever have imagined. None of that would have happened if you'd just paid attention and given me the right medicine.”
I shake my head.
“He's coding!” a voice shouts in the distance. “Get a team in here!”
“And then my heart stopped,” he adds, still watching me with an expression of pure hatred. “I felt that too.”
Turning, I watch in horror as a team works on the boy, but I already know that they won't succeed. Every detail of this day is etched into my memory, but I still can't look away as one of the doctors pulls the paddles aside and starts checking for a pulse. So many doctors and nurses, so much frantic action, and at the center of it all is one little boy who's dying because of a mistake
I
made.
“It hurt so much,” Anthony's voice whispers in my ear. “All because you weren't paying attention and gave me the wrong pills.”
I turn, but suddenly I realize my eyes are closed. Opening them, I find that I'm in the dark, silent kitchen. I must have nodded off for a moment and slipped into a dream. Reaching up, I touch the side of my face and feel cold sweat running down my cheeks. My heart is racing, pounding in my chest with so much force, I feel for a moment as if I might pass out.
I get to my feet, but my legs are trembling and I quickly sit down again. Those dreams are always so vivid and so real, it's like I'm transported back to that awful day. I just wish I could stop reliving those moments, but then again...
It's no more than I deserve. After all, the boy is right, and so is Father. I
did
kill Anthony Harper. I was sloppy and careless, and he died in agony because of my mistake.
Rachel - Today
“Number five, Harlock Drive,” I say again, making sure to pronounce each word as clearly as possible.
“You searched for... Sherlock Holmes,” the laptop's voice replies. “Confirm?”
“No!” I hiss, before letting out a sigh of frustration. This goddamn voice recognition software is driving me nuts, although I know the problem is at least partly on my end. After all, back when I could still see and I was living a normal life, I was always something of a mumbler.
I pause for a moment, taking a deep breath.
I can do this.
“Search,” I say firmly. “Number five, Harlock Drive.”
“You searched for... Numbering hive, Harlock Drive.”
“Close enough,” I mutter. “Yes. Read search results.”
“First result. Property listings for Harlock -”
“Dismiss.”
“Second result. Restaurants in Harlock -”
“Dismiss.”
“Third result. Community center and -”
“Search within news category,” I tell the program, once again taking care to speak as clearly as possible.
“Searching within news category.”
I wait. This laptop is so old, it might as well be steam-powered.
“First result. Local nurse in court over death of boy aged eight.”
It can't be that.
“Dismiss.”
“Second result. Nurse accused over child's death.”
“Dismiss.”
“Third result. Harlock Drive nurse Alice Bradshaw faces review over fatal pill error.”
I pause, before figuring that maybe I should at least check this one out.
“Open link,” I tell the computer.
I wait a moment, sitting alone on the bed and listening to the silence of the house. After a moment, the laptop's fan comes to life, whirring as the machine starts over-heating.
“Read result,” I continue.
“Alice Bradshaw,” the computer continues, “of five, Harlock Drive, made her first appearance in front of a review board on Monday, in connection with the death of eight-year-old Anthony Harper. Ms. Bradshaw, aged twenty-eight, stands accused of administering the wrong medication during a shift late last year, causing the young boy to die from a rare, fatal reaction to blood-thinning medication.”
“She lived here,” I whisper. “She lived in this exact same house.”
“Hospital representatives insist that safeguards were in place to ensure that patients were protected, but the family of Anthony Harper are calling for more to be done so that errors made by an individual nurse can't result in potentially fatal doses being given to patients. The review board is expected to speak to everyone who was working on the ward when Anthony died, and will also consider hospital-wide policies regarding drug administration.”
For the next few minutes, I listen to the rest of the news story, until finally the speech program gets to the end of the page. It's pretty clear that twenty years ago, a nurse who lived in this house was accused of giving the wrong medication to a kid at the local hospital, and the kid died. Still, I was expecting something a little more shocking, so I tell the program to go back to the search results and try again. I guess it's possible that Alice Bradshaw went nuts and murdered people, but I need to know for sure. Mum was definitely keeping something from me earlier.
“Search,” I tell the computer, “Alice Bradshaw, number -”
Suddenly I hear a loud bump from one of the other rooms, as if something was briefly knocked against the floor. I freeze, and I hear it the bump a couple more times before finally the house falls silent again.
I wait.
“Mum?” I call out eventually.
No reply.
There's no way she should be back from work already. She's only been gone for a couple of hours, but I definitely heard something.
“Mum?”
Silence.
I tell myself that the house is just settling, but I can't deny that my heart is racing now. I sit completely still, waiting in case there's another noise, but after a few minutes I start feeling pretty dumb. Obviously a freak gust of wind blew through an open window and caused a door to move. I mean, Mum never leaves windows open at night, especially not when she's going out to work and leaving me alone, but this is a new house so I guess she made a mistake.
Either that, or there's a burglar and I'm gonna get raped and murdered.
“I have a gun!” I call out, lying my ass off. “I'm not afraid to defend myself!”
Silence.
Sighing, I lean back on the bed.
“Or just shoot myself,” I mutter, suddenly feeling exhausted. “Maybe I should just give up. At least getting attacked by a burglar would be interesting.”
I should get back to the laptop and resume my search, but I feel drained and all I want to do is sleep. I reach over and fumble for the baseball bat, before setting it next to me on the bed. Closing my eyes, I tell myself I'll just try to rest for a few minutes, but I quickly feel my mind starting to drift. This whole blindness thing forces me to concentrate a lot more than usual, and right now I'm developing one hell of a headache.
Suddenly I hear another loud banging sound, and I sit bolt upright.
The sound is coming from a nearby room, definitely upstairs, and it sounds like someone is repeatedly hitting the floor with something hard. And then I realize I can hear another sound, too. Someone is playing a piano in the distance.