Silence for the Dead(65)

The words seemed to echo off the walls. The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. I watched Creeton’s parents leave and walk out into the hot sunshine as cold air crept down the back of my neck, chilled the back of my dress. “Dead is never better,” I said to their backs. “Never. The war taught us that.” But they didn’t hear and they kept walking.

Creeton’s face, the hate in his eyes.

I turned and took myself back up the corridor to the front parlor. I heard nothing as I went, saw no one. There was only silence that sucked all the air into it and left a stale deadness behind, and suddenly I started to worry. How long had I left Creeton alone? He was upset, but this was Creeton. Surely he wouldn’t—

The parlor where I’d left him was empty.

I stared for a wild moment, and then I shouted, “Paulus!”

He met me in the corridor. “Creeton,” I said. “I had to escort his parents out, and he’s vanished.”

“Bloody hell,” Paulus said. “Was he upset?”

“Yes—I think so, yes.”

“I’ll get Roger,” he said. “Go to—”

We were interrupted by a shout and the sound of splintering glass.

“Bloody hell,” Paulus said again, and we both ran.

The shouts came from the common room. A pane in one of the French doors was broken, glass littering the terrace. The patients were excited. “He came right through here!” someone shouted. “Broke the glass, opened the door, and went out!”

It was the broken glass that drew my eye. The French doors were unlocked at this time of day; Creeton had not needed to break the window. That meant he had wanted to. Perhaps he’d had a fit of rage. Or perhaps—

I thought of Creeton’s parents walking away toward their motorcar. One action that spilled over into another and another, like water running down a slope, inevitable.

“Paulus.” This was Jack Yates. One look at his face and I knew he was thinking the same thing I was. “You need to get the visitors out of sight of Creeton. They need to get into the house.”

It took Paulus a longer moment, but then he went pale. “Bloody hell—not again,” he said, careful to keep his voice too low for the rest of the patients to hear. “Roger!”

“I can help,” Jack said.

Paulus aimed a finger at him. “Don’t you dare. I’ve got enough going on.” Roger appeared at his shoulder, and the two orderlies quickly conferred.

Matron came in the room, drawn by the commotion. “Nurse Weekes, what is going on here?”

“There’s no time,” I said to her.

“Go,” said Jack, almost in a whisper, and in a second I was through the French doors, aiming for the garden gate.

“Kitty!” Nina grabbed my arm. She was on the terrace with Mr. West, whose parents were staring at us, their eyes wide. “Creeton came through here,” Nina said.

“I know,” I replied.

“He broke the glass and took a piece of it.”

My stomach lurched. “Get them out of here,” I said. Then I ran into the garden and gave Martha, who was shepherding Mr. Derby, his fiancée, and his mother, the same order. Martha heard the urgency in my voice and jumped to it, asking no questions.

I didn’t see Creeton on the grounds outside the garden. I walked quickly through the weeds and called his name, receiving no answer. But I knew where he was going. It was where the others had gone.

His white patient’s uniform stood out against the shadows on the grass in front of the isolation room. I called his name again, and broke into a not-quite run; I didn’t want to approach him too quickly in case that sent him over the edge. He turned and watched me coming, and when I got close enough to see, he raised one hand and put the jagged point of the large shard of glass he was holding against the soft spot of his throat.

“Go away, Nurse Weekes,” he said. His eyes were strangely calm.

I was entering the shadows of the west wing now, choking on the oppressive air. “Creeton, don’t!” I shouted.

He dug the glass farther into his neck. “Don’t come closer. Do you think I won’t do it?”

I stopped where I was. Even though I’d known what he was planning, the sight was still shocking. This is not a nightmare, I thought. This is real. There may have been shouts or movement far behind us, but I didn’t turn to look. It was just the two of us, the day’s heat a living thing even here in the shadows, where it pulsed over us and intensified the sour smell of this place. “Please,” I managed. “I know that was difficult. But—”

“Where’s my Luger?” he said.

“What?” The word meant nothing to me.

“They took it from me when I came here,” he said. “I know they have it. I’d rather use a gun than this piece of glass, but if I have to I’ll make do.” He laughed.

“I can’t do that,” I said helplessly. “I can’t get you a gun.”

“You mean you won’t.” He laughed again, and his gaze darkened when he saw Paulus, Roger, and two other orderlies fan out around us in a circle.

“Put it down,” Paulus said.

Creeton’s knuckles whitened on the shard of glass. “I can see I’ll have to be quick.”