Silence for the Dead(107)

Roger had been the first to see that Mabry, with Creeton’s gun in his hand, intended not to defend himself but to kill himself. He’d actually tried to stop “the stupid bastard,” as he put it. Mabry had shot him; Creeton had witnessed it. Then Mabry had continued on out into the rain. Roger suffered so much pain his first night that, after conferring with the others, I’d finally given him one of Jack’s pills to ease him into sleep until help could arrive.

Creeton himself sat subdued. He had come into the common room voluntarily, as we’d been busy with the injured, and now sat quiet and cross-legged on his mattress. Jack had bound his hands as a precaution, though Creeton had not struggled. Creeton would not look at Nina or me.

I came up the circular drive, passed the statue of Mary, and walked up the steps to the portico and through the front door. The main hall was empty now. I passed the little sitting room where I’d met my brother, the dining room where I’d first been so terrified and where I’d sat on the floor with a bleeding Captain Mabry in my lap. I poked my head into the common room and found everything calm; the patients were either asleep or dozing. Nina and Anna weren’t there, but Douglas sat comfortably in his chair. “Vries cooked some food,” he said to me without preamble. “They’ve gone down to eat it.”

I took a pitcher of water, gave a few sips to the men who asked for it. “All right. I’ll go. I just checked and the bridge is clear. We should get help now.”

“That’s good news,” he said.

“D’you want me to bring you some breakfast?”

“Anna said she would. But thank you.”

I made myself turn, look down at Creeton, who was now sleeping. He was lying on his back, his mouth open a little as he dozed. His tied hands rested limply on his stomach. “Did he speak?” I asked Douglas.

“Yes. Didn’t say much.”

“Was he—?”

“No. I don’t think so. He wasn’t like before.”

I looked around the room. “Someone’s missing.”

“Archie Childress,” Douglas said. “Said he felt well enough to help out. I didn’t see a reason to stop him.”

I nodded at him and put the pitcher back. Then I went down the corridor to the stairs.

The kitchen smelled like bacon, and suddenly I was ravenous. Everyone was there, filling their plates. Paulus had done a decent job, it seemed; I’d had no idea he could cook. Archie stood at one of the large sinks, his sleeves rolled up, scrubbing pots and pans. He glanced at me and gave me a quick smile.

There was a strange moment when we all sat down at the small table and looked at one another. We were mismatched, for certain: a mental patient, a false nurse, a real nurse, a South African orderly, a murderess, and Brave Jack Yates, sitting down to breakfast. We were like a shipwrecked crew stranded on an island and not sure what to say to one another.

I looked at Jack. He was still wearing his everyday clothes, shirt, suspenders, and trousers. He looked a bit tired, but not much the worse for wear. He was picking thoughtfully at his breakfast, but when he felt my gaze he looked up at me and returned it. He seemed to be looking me over as I’d just done him. My wrists were sore, as were a few spots where I’d gotten the worst of my struggle with Creeton, but otherwise I was fine. I was exhausted, but the walk had given me a second wind, and I felt the blood pumping in my veins again.

I cleared my throat. “I’ve checked the bridge,” I said to everyone. “It’s clear.”

“Thank God,” said Archie. He did not stutter.

“I’ve just been on the telephone in Matron’s office,” said Jack. “The phone lines seem to be up again. I spoke to the hospital at Newcastle on Tyne. It seems all the patients arrived safely. I told them we’ve casualty cases, and they’re sending ambulances as fast as they can.”

“It will take a few hours,” I said.

“That gives us some time,” Paulus broke in. When we all looked at him, he said. “Well? What are we going to tell everyone?”

He was right. “The truth doesn’t sound . . .” I paused, not certain how to word it.

“It sounds mad,” said Archie.

Anna stopped eating and put down her fork.

I pictured it: one of us—any of us—telling the authorities in Newcastle on Tyne that Creeton and Mabry had been possessed by ghosts, and Creeton had tried to kill Mabry in appeasement to the ghost of Nils Gersbach, and Mabry had tried to kill Anna instead, but the ghost of Mikael Gersbach had saved her. “No one would believe me if I said it,” I said. “I’m hardly credible.”

“Neither am I,” offered Archie, gesturing to the prominent lettering on his shirt. “You have the best chance of any of us, Jack.”

“I would, if I hadn’t just spent six months in a mental hospital,” said Jack. “That might tell against me. Paulus or Nurse Shouldice, you’re probably the most credible witnesses here.”

“God, no,” said Paulus. “I need to work, and this place is finished. Who’s going to hire an orderly who believes a story like that?”

“I need my job, too,” said Nina. She was eating steadily, as always; being struck and drugged seemed to have made her hungry. “Here’s the best way. We got hit by the flu. We evacuated as many as we could. The stress got to Creeton and he became aggressive. He attacked Kitty and me, and then Mr. West. Mabry and Yates got the gun out of Matron’s safe to defend us. Creeton fought with Mabry, who shot Roger by accident. Yates shot Mabry in the leg when he was aiming at Creeton and his rifle went off by mistake.” She put another bite of bacon into her mouth. “I think that works.”