April 3, 2011 by Mark Lidstone

Twenty – Killing Friends 9

For Kayla Mills

The rain pounded against Kayla’s black umbrella as she stood at the bottom of the hospital’s stairs staring at the sign. “Saint Mary’s General Hospital”. She adjusted her nurses uniform, checking for rain damage. She knew what waited for her, she couldn’t push herself to go inside.

It would be the same as it had been for the passed 18 days and she could no longer face their blood and fearful eyes. They’d scream and cry as she tended to them. She used to pity them, now she hated them. She knew she couldn’t keep doing this. Tonight would be her last night.

A hand lightly grasped Kayla’s shoulder causing her to jump. She turned around to see her co-worker, Donald, staring back at her. He stood soaking wet in the rain. The stubborn man had always refused to use an umbrella. His dark brown hair dripped with water and his pale green pants were wet around the ankles.

“Sorry”, he said to her, forcing a smile. Kayla ran her fingers through her hair in embarrassment.

“It’s okay” she said. “Just a bit jumpy. You know? What with all that’s been going on”.

“Yeah, I know” he said extending his hand for hers. “Come on, let’s get this over with”

Kayla smiled at him. He was a really sweet guy and was obviously crushing on her. She only saw him as a friend though. At least for now. She took his hand and together they walked into the hospital to begin their shift.

—

Kayla walked down the long hallway towards room 402. The walls were bare and painted a pale blue. She’d wished they’d decorate with art or photos, maybe it wouldn’t feel so much like a scene from a horror movie. She tried to ignore the typical smell one would experience in a hospital. She knew she’d never get used to it.

They had received another new patient that day, as they had for the previous 18 days, and Kayla was instructed to attend to him immediately. She read over his file on the clipboard attached to the door. Before she put it down, she felt as though she could recite it from memory. The patient was a 47 year old Caucasian male named Robert Dwyer. He had sustained the same injuries as the other patients and was in serious pain. Kayla was instructed to inject him with Morphine and change his bandages. Taking a deep breath, she entered the room.

What she saw on the other side of the door didn’t surprise her. She’d been looking at the same thing for days now. Not just with him, but the 18 other patients as well.

Mr. Dwyer stared at her with terror in his eyes. His mouth moved as if to speak but nothing other than muffled noises came out. Like the other patients, Mr. Dwyer was missing his tongue.

“It doesn’t get any easier” Donald said. He was standing next to the bed looking through Mr. Dwyer’s chart.

“Doesn’t it?” she asked, too low for Donald to hear. She didn’t want to discourage him with her negativity.

“What kind of sick bastard does something like this?” he asked.

Kayla didn’t answer. She really didn’t know.

“He’s not done yet, you know” Donald said, peaking up from the clipboard.

“What do you mean?” she asked, filling a syringe with with Morphine. Mr. Dwyer moaned in fear at the sight of the needle. He recoiled from her as if to escape. Donald knew the routine and held the man down so Kayla could deliver the injection.

“The fingers and toes” Donald started. “For 19 consecutive days, we’ve received a patient. Each one was found with the same wounds: severed tongue, severe lacerations covering their body, and one missing appendage; either a toe or finger. The only difference found between the patients was the appendage.

“The first victim was missing the pinky toe of his left foot, right?. The next was missing the toe to the right of that one. The pattern continued for the first ten victims. Then he moved to their fingers. He started with the left pinky and followed the same pattern as the feet”. Donald held up the right hand of the now sleeping patient. He pointed to the stump that used to be a ring finger. “I’d bet a month’s salary that tomorrow’s victim shows up with a missing pinky. Number 20”

“So,” Kayla said after soaking in Donald’s theory. “What happens after 20?”

“Maybe nothing”, Donald said shaking his head, “Or maybe it’s just the beginning. Either way, there will be one more”.

—

Paper bag in hand, Kayla pushed open the cafeteria doors. She enjoyed her lunch breaks. They were usually spent at a quiet table alone with only her iPhone to keep her company. She enjoyed checking in on her friends through Facebook and catching up on the blogs she followed.

Today, though, everybody gathered around the small lunchroom TV. The local news showed a picture of a man she recognized. She saw Donald in the crowd waving her over.

“The police have found a new suspect”, he told her as she joined the group.

“Lidstone”, she said.

“You know him?”

“He was a patient here a few weeks ago” she told him. “A real asshole to myself and the other nurses. Hard to forget him”

“Well it looks like he’s a little more than an asshole if the police are right.”

“I thought they already had a suspect”

“Yeah, they did”, he said. “They found him three days ago missing the thumb on his right hand. He’s now in room 405.” The room grew silent as the news anchor began to speak.

“Police have released a photo of the newest suspect in a series of local attacks.” she said. “Mark Lidstone is a 26 year old Caucasian male and has been arrested on numerous accounts in the past for both physical and sexual assault. He was released, after posting bail, three weeks ago. Police have been unable to locate Mr. Lidstone and urge anyone in the vicinity of Saint Mary’s General Hospital to practice extreme caution.”

“Wait,” Kayla said. “What do they mean?”

“The police say each victim has been a patient here recently.” Donald said. “Some were even staff. The police think the bastard is following them home after checking out. Or even grabbing them on their way out.”

The crowd dispersed and Kayla silently moved to a table in the corner of the room. She turned her back to the TV and forced down her lunch.

—

The rain had stopped but the town was still damp. The air was thick and humid and the sidewalks were covered with scattered puddles. Kayla’s heels clicked against the pavement as she followed her route home. The streets were eerily quiet without a single person or passing car. Kayla checked her watch: 10:30. She was getting home much later than she would have liked.

Holding her closed umbrella, Kayla focused on the clicking of her shoes. The rhythmic pattern helped her to clear her thoughts. Relaxing her hands slightly, she lost the grip on her umbrella – dropping it to the ground. She stopped walking and bent over to pick it up. She held her breath as she heard the clicking of shoes behind her.

The sound rapidly approached her. Kayla’s stomach clenched with fear. She grabbed the umbrella and prepared to run as a strong hand grabbed her arm spinning her around.

She gasped when she saw Donald’s face staring back at her.

“Kayla, it’s me” he said, holding her in place. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you”

“Jesus Donald” she said as she brushed the hair out of her eyes.

“Sorry, I just wanted to walk you home” he said. “Make sure you got there safe. I’m convinced that sick son of a bitch will be taking another victim tonight. I needed to be sure you will still have your pinky when I see you tomorrow” Kayla smiled at him.

“Thank you” she said. “That’s very sweet but..”

“I insist” he interrupted. Defeated, she let him walk her home.

Kayla unlocked her front door, all too aware that Donald was standing behind her. She knew things were about to get awkward.

“Kayla,” he said, “you know, we’ve been working together for a while now and..”

“It’s been a long day” she said with a sigh. “I know what you’re going to ask me. Please don’t. It just isn’t the right time.” Shame and embarrassment reflected in Donald’s eyes. “I’m sorry”

“I get it” he said. With a flash of anger, he turned his back and stormed off, ignoring Kayla’s apologetic cries. With a sigh, she went inside.

Combing through the fridge, Kayla searched for something quick to eat. She was too exhausted to cook anything and she still had a long night ahead of her. She found a plate of left over chicken and opted to make a sandwich. She reached for the plate but froze when she heard a loud bang coming from her basement.

Fear caused the hairs on the back of her neck to stand up. She strained her ears, listening for another noise. Nothing came. Still, Kayla felt nervous. Grabbing the baseball bat she kept by the door, she made her way down to the basement.

Kayla flipped the light switch. The tiny bulb cast a faint glow of light which distorted the shadows. She slowly stepped down the concrete stairs ignoring the horrible smell that crept into her nose. At the bottom, she saw the face of a man laying on the floor underneath the hanging light bulb. It was the same face that was projected on the news earlier. She slowly walked towards him, her bare feet pressing against the cold, cement floor.

A wave of relief washed over her when she realized the man was still bound to the toppled chair. As she’d feared, the anesthesia she’d injected him with that morning had worn off before she’d gotten home. Attempting to escape, he must have knocked over the chair she had tied him to. The blindfold was still wrapped securely around his eyes. The lacerations on his naked body oozed with fresh blood.

Kayla placed the metal bat on the floor. The sound of the aluminium hitting the cement caused Mark to blindly turn his head. Panicking, he tried to speak. Blood and drool poured out of his mouth caused by the freshly severed tongue. With great effort, Kayla stood the chair up on its legs.

Next to the chair, was a small table full of metallic tools. Most of them were covered in dried blood. Kayla grabbed the sack that was laying on top and placed it over her head. The smell of blood and burlap nauseated her as she adjusted the eye holes. With her identity concealed, Kayla removed the crying man’s blindfold.

His eyes squinted as they attempted to adjust to the low light. Kayla pulled a syringe out of her pocket and removed the cap. Mark recoiled at the sight of the needle. He moaned in fear and pressed his back firmly against the chair. Kayla injected the anesthesia into his forearm, just above the firmly tied rope that bounded his hands behind the chair.

She watched him through her mask as his struggling ceased and he drifted off to sleep. Removing the sack from her head, Kayla tossed it onto the table. She moved behind the chair and picked up a pair of bolt cutters that were left on the floor. She hated what she had become. She knew she couldn’t keep doing this. Tonight would be the last night. She clamped the cutters onto Mark’s right pinky, severing it from his hand with a loud crack. Blood sprayed from his finger and into the bucket she had placed under his hands. She treated his wounds, preventing him from bleeding too much before she could drop him off at the hospital.

“What happens after twenty?” she asked herself.