Into the Aether_Part One(26)

“I’m afraid to ask the price,” Cybil said, stroking her neck and looking around the bedroom.

Smiling, he pulled out his business card and jotted a number on it. She stared.

“Are you sure this is the correct price?” she asked. Carl smiled. “That price is fantastic, but it doesn’t leave me with much left in my budget.” Cybil started to nervously run the business card along her fingertips.

“I know, but think of it this way. It’s a rental property. You could start renting the downstairs immediately and subsidize a good chunk of your mortgage. There is a catch, though.” Carl turned serious.

Sighing, Cybil replied, “There’s always a catch.”

“The homeowner is very motivated to sell, which is why the price is so low.”

“Why is he so motivated?”

“He has had some health issues lately and has fallen behind on his mortgage payments. If he doesn’t sell it soon, the bank has volunteered to do it for him.”

“I see. When do I have to decide?”

“Papers have to be signed with a certified check in hand by Friday.”

“This Friday?”

Grimacing slightly, Carl replied, “Yes.”

Quickly calculating closing costs, the notice she would have to give her landlord, and the time she would spend packing, she replied, “The heck with it, let’s do this!” Carl smiled cautiously. “I’ve been looking at houses for a while now,” she continued. “I’m done with renting.”

Cybil smiled into the mirror as she thought about her new house. She clipped her watch pendent to her scrub top, walked to the kitchen, and grabbed the last twelve-grain bagel from the bag on the counter. Tossing the plastic into her recycle bin, she considered what to make for lunch, and then remembered she was going to meet Carl at Alpaca Coffee today at four to sign the papers. She would treat herself to something there for a late lunch; it had been months since she had eaten out. Smiling, she nibbled on her bagel, grabbed her purse, and left.

In the car, she turned on the radio to hear a stern newscaster saying, “A recall has been issued by the FDA for Bluebell brand pasteurized milk with suspected E. Coli contami—” Cybil changed to her favorite music station and was singing along as she pulled into the employee parking lot and parked in the second-furthest spot from the door. Finishing her bagel, she reached for her cell phone and switched it to silent. The time read 12:46 pm.

She approached the Emergency Department doors and found an older, white Ford Mustang parked in front of them, idling. Two teenagers, a young man and a woman, were having a lively discussion about something. She couldn’t quite make out their faces, although the girl had her arm wrapped around herself in a way that made Cybil uneasy.

The girl got out of the car, a backpack slung around her shoulder, and walked toward the doors. She kept her head down, her chestnut-colored hair obscuring her face, as she walked past Cybil and approached the admissions desk. The car pulled out of the drop-off area and onto the empty road in front of the hospital, and the boy pulled out a cell phone and started talking as he drove off.

Don’t talk on your phone and drive. You’re going to get yourself killed, or worse, kill someone else. Cybil shook her head.

She walked into the hospital lobby, past admissions, and into the employee lounge to punch in. At the nurses’ station, she tucked her purse into a drawer under the desk and sat in front of a stack of charts. As she was glancing through the first one, a heavyset nurse plopped down a new chart in front of her.

“We’ve got a teeny-bopper this time around!” she said jovially.

Putting her current chart down, Cybil picked up the new one and read the name: Liu-Warner, Lara.





Eight





A white Ford Mustang limped noisily down Darcy Street. The rusty vehicle made loud squeaking noises, and it emitted a trail of blue smoke behind it. Lara was in the passenger’s seat as the car headed to Dalhousie General Hospital. She was looking down at the backpack nestled in her lap and she absently played with the strap.

“Your car should be on life support,” Lara said in a monotone.

“I think it has character!” Greg replied, a smile on his face. He kept his hands firmly on the steering wheel but gave her a sideways glance.

“Are you feeling okay?”

“Yep,” she replied quietly.

The ‘inkblot monster’ loomed large in her mind’s eye. It seemed like it had wanted to squeeze the life out of her.

“Greg, do you think that monster from the nightmare was really trying to kill me?” she asked without looking at him.

Greg sat stoic, his face unreadable. After several seconds, he responded, “I don’t know. If it was, though, I know it wouldn’t have been able to.”

“Oh?”

“Your awesomeness would have overwhelmed it,” he replied in an airy voice. Lara knew he was trying to cheer her up, but she wasn’t in the mood. She continued to stare downward as he put a hand on her wrist. His smile faltered as he looked at her.

“I don’t know about that,” she replied with a heavy sigh. “Maybe that thing was trying to kill me and maybe I should have been killed. For all I know, it was my time.”

“Your time?”

“To die.”