Cry From The Grave (Chapter 1)

Cry From The Grave

PART ONE
Stillness and Suffering

November 8-10

Chapter 1

     Helen Smith despised the cafeteria, the checkups on her vital signs, and even the passing invitations to chapel services. Little about the microscopic community of St. Matthew's Grove gave her much pleasure anymore. The checkups annoyed her, for any physical shift in her chair or bed brought about an eruption of discomfort. She knew she was marking time. Lung cancer had ravaged her body and presently spread more rapidly than ever before. She could barely keep her eyes open once she consumed a passable lunch. Helen couldn't bear the quizzical eyes of the other patients, their knowing looks drawn to her wig she used to cover the few wisps remaining on her despoiled cranium.

     Her escape on this cold October day was the courtyard on the east side of the building. Formerly overlaid with bricks, the area had been recently refurbished with a rubberized surface made from crushed tire treads painted a neutral gray. Although not as aesthetically pleasing, it made for more efficient movement for patients such as Helen on the occasions she used her wheelchair. looking through the trees, she could make out the vehicles maneuvering north and south on Bompart Avenue. She glanced at her watch. Three o'clock. David would visit her in approximately two hours, driving over from Webster Groves High School, where he served as a science teacher. Her son was the only family who counted for anything at the moment. Gene had died seven years ago, ending a happy marriage of forty-six years. Their other children lived far away and rarely returned to St. Louis, let alone find a reason to call.

      Her thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of Daryl Goodspeed, who eased his affable self onto the bench closest to her. Sixty-four years old and stricken with pancreatic cancer, Daryl was the newest addition to St. Matthew's Grove. The tiny hospice center, shoehorned into the southeast corner of Eden Theological Seminary's campus, could boast of only a small staff and six patients. Daryl had proven to be the friendliest soul in the crowd, and Helen was grateful for these interludes. She watched as Daryl shifted his enormous bulk and turned toward her. Looking directly into the sun's glare, he lifted his hand to shield his eyes, grimacing at the sharp pain in his back and side.
     It was several moments before Daryl spoke. "Quiet in there today," he rasped.
     "I don't doubt that," replied Helen. "Mid-afternoon. It's time for almost everyone to take a nap. I was considering it myself."
     Daryl shook his head. "Not what I meant. Lawrence and Verna are in the library reading the paper. Sandra's by the fountain, and even James is up out of bed. It's almost like we got a signal to move around with no one there."
     Helen shot a worried look his way. "What do you mean, no one there?"
     "Well..."
     "Anna and Beverly are still here?"
     "Of course, of course," said Daryl reassuringly. "They wouldn't leave in the middle of their shift. It's infinitely better having them in the house than Billy Hanspard."
     "You're just upset Billy barked at you the other day," began Helen, but her words faded as Daryl held up a beefy hand.
     "Forcing me to take my medication? Helen, I have pancreatic cancer. One day I'm playing golf at Aberdeen with my neighbor and I'm setting up a chip shot on the ninth hole. Next thing I know, I'm in the middle of my backswing and I get a piercing stinger barely west of my spine. That was the week before Easter. Now I'm here, poked and prodded in the morning, shuffling around in the afternoon, and that Hanspard thinks he's doing me a favor giving me painkillers when my colon is clogging itself."
     He paused, stifling a cough, and he pulled out a handkerchief to wipe his mouth. "Nothing tastes good in the cafeteria anymore. That Anna girl is forever trying to get my vitals. What's the point anyway? In a couple months, I should be dead. Why worry about vitals?"
     "This is hardly your usual self, dear," remarked Helen soothingly. "And Anna's just doing her job."
     "I'm sorry for my demeanor, Helen," he replied. "But she's an ogre. Not that complaining about it would do any good. Giles, Hibbler, Edwards--none of them care enough to deal with her. And mark my words, if no one confronts her, she's liable to kill one of us before it's all said and done."
     Helen grimaced as the chilly breeze swirled around them. "You're concerned about getting killed by a trusted professional when you happen to be staring death in the face anyhow?"
     Daryl growled. "You're the queen of irony, as usual. But the reason why I said it was quiet in there is this: Aside from the nurses, no one in the administration is around. It's like..." He craned his neck, looking back over his shoulder. The back door of the building had opened and a tall, full-figured, yet graceful woman glided over the threshold and began traversing the courtyard. Her wavy auburn hair fell to her shoulders and contrasted with her bright green scrubs. Covering the space from the door to the shivering duo in little time, she approached them with an effusive smile.
     "Nurse Bev, I can safely assume this is the warning call to return to the fireplace and thaw out?" asked Daryl.
     Beverly Overton gave a lilting laugh that seemed out of place with her stature. She laid her hand gently on Helen's shoulder, a reassuring touch that visibly relaxed the patient. "I'm under no delusions I'll be able to lasso the both of you inside," the nurse replied, her words glistening with mirth. "Just checking on you. It's a tad breezy and I was just wondering how long you've been exposed to the elements."
     Helen was about to thank her for her concern when another thought intervened. "Nurse Beverly, it's so quiet inside. And Dar...well, we haven't seen Dr. Hibbler or Mrs. Andrews around in the past hour. Are they even around?"
     For the first time, Helen thought she caught a flicker of anxiety in Beverly Overton's eyes, but the worrisome flare extinguished itself as soon as it ignited. The nurse shook her head slowly, her red curls swaying in the quickening wind.
     "Stepped out for a brief moment," she said. "Something off campus, but they should be back soon."
     "That's not all," retorted Daryl after another round of coughing. "Reverend Giles got in his car ten minutes ago and started heading west on Lockwood. So that looks like it makes you the senior warden here."
     Beverly slapped him playfully on the arm. "Stop that," she said. "You know his chaplaincy is only part-time. He's not tied down here nine to five."
     Daryl peered back at the building. "Still awfully quiet." He paused reflectively. "Like a storm's a-coming."
     No one spoke for about twenty seconds. Then, feigning a look at her watch, Beverly Overton moved behind Helen's wheelchair. "Come on, both of you," she said. "It's probably time we got back inside anyway." She grasped the handles and began pushing Helen back toward the building and its temperate interior, with Daryl lumbering along in their wake.