Silence for the Dead(33)

“This house scare you?”

I wanted to sound bold, but thought of the black mold in the lav, the sounds in the walls, and said nothing.

“I hope you’re not the susceptible type,” Nathan said. “Those don’t last long in this place. Especially after night shift. It isn’t just the nightmares. Most of the men say that something walks the halls, especially at night.”

“Nathan,” said Paulus in a warning voice.

“Oh, shut it. You know it’s true. Every nurse goes running. We didn’t even see the last one’s tail.” He turned back to me. “Some say it’s the ghosts that make the patients try to top themselves.”

“What?” I managed.

“A few have tried it,” Nathan said. “That spot outside the library, you know. That seems to be the spot they go to. The last one had stolen a blade.”

There was a long silence. I thought of that lonely door I’d seen while I sat on the lawn with Archie, how none of the men had gone near it. Bammy the kitchen boy looked at his shoes.

“They’re just madmen,” Roger put in. He was perhaps over fifty years old, something I hadn’t noticed when I’d first seen his dark hair. “I’ve done night shift plenty of times here. I never see anything walk but the sleepwalkers. These patients sleep tidy if you make ’em. We’ll have a quiet night tonight.”

“You say that,” said Nathan, “but even you won’t go near that library.”

“That’s a bald lie,” said Roger.

“Why the library?” I broke in. I wouldn’t think about suicides. I wouldn’t. “Why isn’t it closed with the rest of the west wing?”

“It’s the isolation room,” Roger said. “They took the books out, of course. It’s big, and it’s secure. Keeps the patients in solitary confinement far away from the others.”

“Works like a top,” said Nathan. “Not a single man of ’em wants to go to the isolation room. Not for love or money. And not overnight.”

Dear God. “Is anyone in there now?”

“No. It’s empty.” Nathan put his toothpick back between his lips. “Except for the ghosts.”

“There are no ghosts,” said Roger.

“So you say. The men know. It’s getting worse, too. Did you hear the last one screaming? Said he could see something from the window.”

“He screamed because he was mad. They’re all mad here, or didn’t you notice?” Roger shrugged. “It’s nothing to me. If they act up, day or night, they know me. They know me very well.”

“All right.” This was Paulus, who sat in his chair tilted with its front legs off the ground, rocking back and forth on his huge long legs. “Well-done, lads. You’ve tried your best to frighten the new night nurse. That’s enough.”

“She didn’t need any scaring.” Nathan grinned at me.

“Go on to bed,” said Paulus. “Bammy, you’re dead on your feet. You’re back on shift at six. Roger, just do your job tonight and don’t tell tales. Got it?”

Paulus tilted the front of his chair back to the floor and rose. I could get no proper read on him; he’d defended me more than once, yet seemed indifferent to my existence. It didn’t matter. He was large, and I wished he were on night shift instead of beady-eyed Roger.

I took the lamp Roger handed me and followed him down the corridor and back up the south stairs, thinking about the old library used as an isolation room. I could see now why Archie hadn’t wanted to talk about it. I wondered why a man would try that spot in the grass, in front of the library door, to try suicide. Why more than one man would try it there.

Roger walked me to the nurse’s desk. “I’ll be around about,” he said. “I have duties to attend to. You may not see me, but I rarely go out of hearing distance. If one of the men gives trouble, just yell.”

He was small and slight, not much larger than me, but when I looked closer, I saw he was wiry, with nothing but gristle under his canvas shirt, and his knuckles were pitted and scarred. Another drifter from God only knew what walk of life who had found his way here. “All right.”

He smiled briefly at me with his narrow mouth, a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “If one of them has his dreams, don’t go near him alone. But they’ll be no trouble, I warrant. They know me.” He flexed his hands a little so the scarred muscles moved. “They know me very well.”

After he’d gone, I sat briefly at the desk, which was set in a nook in the wall and was long and thin as a toothpick. I slid open the first rickety drawer, pulling out the linens list and staring at its crabbed, inked columns. Already the words and numbers blurred. I put the list down again and pulled on the other drawers. One was empty, and the other was locked. Martha had given me a ring of keys and I pulled them from the loop at my waist, perusing them. The linen closets, Martha had explained, and the medical supply closets, and the food and tea stores. One small key fit the desk drawer, which opened to reveal a set of hypodermic needles.

They gleamed dully at me in the lamplight: four of them, set in wooden holders, detached from their syringes, the needles impossibly long. They were of wicked metal, lined up with precision, carefully waiting. Set in the compartment next to the needle heads were glass syringes, their silver plungers fully compressed, and four vials of brown liquid, unlabeled. I remembered the chapter I’d read before sleeping. A nurse would attach the needle head, draw the liquid into the syringe, and inject the patient. I shut the drawer and locked it again.