Angels of Mourning. John Pritchard

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СКАЧАТЬ clean. But when I closed the tap again, and the roar of water dripped and dribbled into silence, the ghost of Razoxane’s face was still there in my mind. And so was the fear of her rage in my belly: as indigestible as lead.

      Oh God, I didn’t mean it, I found myself thinking even as I reached for my towel. I didn’t want to see. And now I’ll forget it, Razoxane: forget it ever happened. Promise …

      And maybe she heard my thoughts: sensed them from wherever she was now, out there in the night. But even if she did, I knew she wouldn’t believe my promise. Because neither, of course, did I.

      I was still a bit shaken by the time I got to work – but a busy morning helped fix my mind on the here and now. Routine stuff, but plenty of it: infusions to change, effusions to aspirate and measure, observations to record. I wrote up my nursing notes in a stark spill of light from the X-ray box as Murdoch – just out of Theatre – discussed fresh films with his juniors. Then it was on to the unit round, providing casenotes and commentary as each patient’s progress was reviewed. Our newest, a bloke in his sixties, was still distressed and disorientated; not least because the ventilator patched into his throat left him unable to speak. I took time to comfort him as best I could; trying hard to understand and answer his gaspy, voiceless questions.

      All of a sudden it was nearly half-past twelve.

      ‘Doesn’t it just fly when you’re enjoying yourself …’ Jean observed drily, on her way to the sluice to empty a bedpan. I couldn’t help a wry little smile at that; but it was true enough.

      And after lunch, in the slacker time of shift overlap, I’d be doing Sue’s appraisal: a review of her professional development. Something else to get my mental teeth into. And maybe we’d get round to discussing whatever it was that was bothering her, as well. Someone else’s troubles to consider, for a change.

      ‘Sure there’s nothing else?’ I asked casually. I knew I was nearly there.

      In my office with the door closed, we’d started off formally enough – but after an hour of honest, friendly discussion, we’d both relaxed a lot. I found I’d drawn both legs up under me where I sat, almost without realizing. And Sue’s initial apprehension had largely faded. But still she hesitated at the question; not quite meeting my eye.

      ‘Fancy a Polo?’ I prompted, reaching into my drawer. I felt for the packet – and found that metal spinner waiting there. It chilled my fingertips; but I managed to keep my smile in place, and fumbled out the mints.

      She nodded, and reached over to pick one. Still smiling, I watched her face: and wondered. Like me, she was clearly trying to put something dark behind her; but whatever it was still kept her awake at nights – I guessed as much from the weary pallor of her features. She looked like she hadn’t slept for days. This afternoon she’d made an effort: done herself justice, and come over well. But even then, there had been moments when her mind was somewhere else again.

      She wanted to talk, I knew; and didn’t want to. An equal balance. It was down to me to tip it.

      ‘I’m always happy to listen, Sue,’ I told her quietly. ‘Professional or personal, it doesn’t matter. And sometimes it helps to talk, it really does.’

      Sue shrugged. There was a pause.

      Then, still looking down, she whispered: ‘Rachel, I’m so scared.’

      Whatever I’d been expecting, it wasn’t quite that. Domestic problems, perhaps, or money worries – but not fear. I leaned forward, frowning: concerned. ‘Suzy. Scared of what?’

      A few suggestions skittered through my head even as she paused again. Unplanned pregnancy. Positive smear test. Even unprotected sex with a stranger. I didn’t much fancy coping with any of those.

      She swallowed. ‘I have to tell someone, Rachel. I have to. And … maybe you’ll understand … Being religious and all …’ When she glanced up at me again, she looked on the verge of tears.

      I waited.

      ‘We were just fooling around,’ Sue continued, her voice still low. ‘Me and a few of the girls on my corridor. We’d been to see a show, we got back late … we were talking. Just sat around in the top-floor common room, talking. About ghosts and things like that, at one in the morning. And then … just for a giggle … Gill suggests we have a seance.’

      She paused again, uncomfortably: watching for my reaction. I just nodded her on.

      ‘Well … we’d had a bit to drink, and we thought, why not? Safety in numbers, and all that. So: we laid out one of those ouija board things, with a glass and all, and … Have you ever tried one of those, Rachel?’

      I shook my head quickly.

      ‘No, well, you’re lucky. Anyway, we all put a finger on the glass, like you do, and we started …’

      Something cold had started creeping up my back, towards the nape of my neck; but I managed to keep my expression neutral – like a good Samaritan. I knew Sue lived in one of the old residential blocks annexed to the hospital; I could almost see the scene before me. Everyone sitting round the table in that upstairs room, the empty mugs and cigarette-stubbed saucers cleared away. Just the circle of makeshift letters in their midst, now – and the upturned glass.

      ‘It moves, you know. By itself. It really does.’ She was suddenly insistent – as though pre-empting any show of scepticism. She needn’t have bothered, though; and I think my face told her so, as much as my nod did. I believed her right enough.

      ‘So anyway … we were asking questions, and it was spelling out answers – really slowly. And then, while we were thinking what to ask next, it started to spell a word of its own.’

      She stopped.

      ‘Which was?’ I ventured, against my better judgement.

      Sue hesitated a moment longer. Then: ‘Wampir.’

      I blinked. ‘Spelled … ?’

      She spelt it out almost cautiously, as though afraid someone would hear her through the door. Or the wall. And I leaned back, still frowning – but beginning to see a glimmer of light now. A glimmer of hope.

      ‘Listen, Sue … You’re sure it wasn’t one of your mates winding you up?’

      She shook her head – quite calmly. ‘Oh, I’m sure, Rachel. Because as soon as it had finished, it started again. Only harder.’

      The glimmer began guttering.

      ‘And then again, and again, just the same word. Wampir. More and more violently, as if something was coming closer all the time.

      ‘And then the glass just shattered.’

      I was so absorbed by this point I actually winced.

      ‘And that really freaked me out, Rachel,’ Sue finished quietly. ‘Well, all of us, actually. And now … I just keep thinking, what did we really do? And what might happen next?’ She’d managed to keep the threatening tears in check through all of this, but the catch in her voice now showed how close the dam was to bursting.

      ‘Oh, Sue, Sue …’ I reached out for her hand, and took it tightly in my own. ‘How long have СКАЧАТЬ