The Pain Nurse

Chapter Twelve

Cheryl Beth rounded the corner into the old atrium and saw the man sprawled on the floor, his wheelchair on its side. One of the wheels was still turning. She ran to him and was relieved to see he was conscious.

“I’m all right.”

“What happened?”

“Spill on aisle one.”

She laughed loudly and told him to not move while she checked for any possible broken bones. Fortunately, he looked to be about her age, a dark-haired tall man. He wasn’t one of the elderly patients that seemed to find every opportunity to get over the railings of their beds or lose hold of their walkers. The nurses called them falling stars. He had sutures in the middle of his back, an incision about nine inches long, but they were in good shape, probably overdue to come out. It looked like the handiwork of Dr. Goldstein. A spinal cord tumor, she guessed.

“I told you I was okay.” He pulled down the sweatshirt that had ridden up on his back and belly.

“We need to get you up. Can you stand?”

He shook his head. He was on his side with his legs still drawn up against one arm of the upset wheelchair. He raised himself to an elbow but couldn’t get any higher. She would need help. She glanced into the chapel but it was empty. No one was coming toward her from the main part of the hospital.

Suddenly she smelled it. He must have lost control when he fell from the wheelchair. The noxious, all-encompassing odor of feces seemed at odds with the man’s handsome, lived-in face and his full head of lush wavy hair. Her well-trained gag reflex didn’t react. He started coughing and stared over her shoulder. She turned and saw Lennie.

He must have just stepped out of the stairwell. His gray pants and blue workshirt were smeared with shit. An old green parka looked little better, turned brown with age and dirt. As always, Lennie greeted her with a rotten-toothed smile beneath the large crimson nose and its ever-expanding map of broken veins. His hair was long and wild, spiked out like the images she had seen of Medusa. It was just Lennie. His eyes were different, though. His stare was fixed and uncomprehending, looking into a dimension that existed only in his mind.

“Lennie, what are you doing?”

He didn’t immediately respond. Then, “Gotta, gotta, gotta, stop. No. Fuck, fuck, fuck…why are you doin’ this to me? Why are you doin’ this? No! No! Fuck! Fuck!” His voice rose with every word. He stared back at the fire door, then over his head.

“Get out of here, Lennie or I’m going to have to call security. And no crapping in the hallway!” She said the last with a laugh in her voice, but he screamed at her.

“Don’t you see him! He’s right there!”

He seemed to be looking in the direction of the patient on the floor.

“He’s right there, the devil!” Lennie’s eyes were huge and puffy as he stared first at the fallen man, then at her. His eyes changed with a fresh thought, as if a new reel of his private movie had been started. He licked his lips with a fat, dark tongue. “I get it, you’re one of his demon-angels. You want to confuse me!”

“Nobody’s the devil or an angel, Lennie. You know me.” This was new. She had never seen him like this before.

“I know! I know! Oww!” He snapped his head around, first to the right, then straight up. “Ayyyyyyyy! I hear. Yes! Yes!” His eyes focused on her anew, something primal in them. “Can’t fool Lennie, no you can’t…” His voice trailed off in a mumble. “I saw the devil kill right here…right here…” Then, “Kill the devil!”

He said it with such a drawn-out shriek that Cheryl Beth felt a chill spread with infinite slowness across the back of her neck.

“It’s the devil from hell, he’s coming out of the floor! Fuck fuck fuck fuck! I hear! I hear!”

He reached into the parka and his filthy hand returned with a knife. The handle itself seemed huge and the blade was longer and black. Lennie held it out like a cross to ward off vampires, then started jabbing and swinging it against unseen phantoms. He flapped the sleeves of the parka, the movement sending out fresh waves of foul odors.

Her feet felt like the cement of dreams and from her stomach came a nauseous lurch she hadn’t felt since she had seen her first autopsy as a nursing student. She fumbled to pull the cell phone out of her lab coat, nearly dropping it. All she could see was the long thick dark blade.

“Lennie,” she said in as calm a voice as she could manage, “Lennie, put down the knife. You’re going to hurt…”

“He’s right there behind you!” he bellowed. “The devil from hell. He’s come up from hell to get me. But nobody’s gonna get Lennie. No fucking devil’s gonna get Lennie.”

Cheryl Beth’s fingers felt numb and huge as she tried to punch in the keys to hospital security. Where was everybody? She looked around for help, found none. Then he was there, a blur of dark color, a heavy mass rushing toward her. Her hand exploded in pain and the cell phone flew into the wall, smashing into several pieces. Time moved fast and slow. She was conscious of every part of the phone clacking down to the floor, her stethoscope, pens, and Starbucks card flying out of her lab coat, as if each was taking days to reenter the atmosphere. But he had gotten to her so fast, faster than her brain could even send a signal to step back or block his swing. He pushed her roughly and her left ankle gave way, then she was flying and sliding backward on the waxed floor. Somehow her head didn’t hit the tiles. She turned to see him rush toward the patient, the knife held high as he screamed in a language she couldn’t comprehend. Now it would happen, just like it had with Christine, and then he would come for her. This was how it had happened. Oh, God.

Suddenly he seemed to hit a wall and collapse. His bulky form abruptly turned horizontal and crashed. She realized the man on the floor had shoved the wheelchair forward, tripping Lennie, who now fell forward across the chair.

“No, devil!” He landed at the patient’s legs and was flailing. The knife was still in his hand. She heard the blade strike the floor, a hard, off-key sound. She remembered a game her brother had played as a teenager, poking a hunting knife as fast as he could into a table between his outstretched fingers. Was it called mumblypeg? Cheryl Beth could never bear to watch and she thought it made him seem like a redneck. Now she heard the same chilling sound: bak, bak, bak, bak.

Lennie pulled himself up over the man, climbing and slithering up his body, swinging the knife. But the man grabbed his wrist with one hand, then two, while Lennie screamed, spat, and thrashed atop him. The man’s face was red and he grunted with effort, twisting his torso. God, the sutures would come out. She pulled herself to her knees with difficulty, as if she were willing some other body to move. Her hands wouldn’t stop shaking. She grabbed Lennie from behind and pulled on him, feeling the parka rip. Then it gave way entirely and she fell backward again, landing painfully on her butt, half a filthy jacket in her hands. Just then the patient bucked his head, crashing his forehead into Lennie’s nose. He screamed and the knife slipped from his hand, hitting the floor loudly. Lennie tried to roll toward the knife but the man grabbed his shoulder and Lennie fell back. He was again on top but this time facing the ceiling, being restrained by the patient. He kept flailing his hand toward the knife. Cheryl Beth ran and kicked it away. By the time she turned around, the man had his arms locked around Lennie’s neck in what looked like an odd wrestling hold. Lennie struggled with renewed fury but only for a few seconds. Then his eyes rolled back and his body went limp.

“Oh my God, are you okay?” Cheryl Beth pulled Lennie off the man. “Is he okay?”

“Probably,” the man said, lying on his back, his chest heaving to get breath.

“You’re sure you’re all right? Can you feel your toes?” The man nodded. “Your right leg’s doing well. That was quite a trick, pushing the wheelchair under him. Probably saved us. I used to think I was a good woman in a crisis.”

“You are.”

She looked back at Lennie. “I thought he was harmless.”

“Nobody’s harmless.” The man smiled and held out his hand. “Will.”

“Cheryl Beth.” His hand felt warm in hers.

“That’s a pretty name.”

Just then she heard Lennie moan, but Will almost involuntarily kicked his right leg. His foot connected sharply with Lennie’s skull and this time the man lay still.