Endings by Linda Richards (portable ebook reader .TXT) 📗

irony that almost made me smile for the first time in weeks: figuring out how to get the Bitcoin thing right seemed more daunting than making the deadly toxic poison was going to be.

Tomorrow was coming; was nearly here. And I was standing there with one foot through the doorway. I could have drifted, sure. But this? It just seemed like the next correct thing. I set out and it was like everything changed in that moment. Like nothing was ever quite the same.

CHAPTER EIGHT

THE NURSING HOME has that smell. Not quite urine. Not exactly dust and disuse. A waiting smell. The smell of roads not traveled and forks not taken. The smell of termination.

I arrive in the evening, just as visiting hours are ending. I slip into the unguarded hallways unobserved, thinking that walking as though I belong will get me anywhere I need to go.

It is not difficult to find what I am looking for. The hallway is conveniently marked with the name of the residents who live in each room. And fourth door on the right, I find it: Pattison, A.

I slip through the door quickly and quietly from an empty hallway. No one has seen me arrive. Except Pattison, of course. He is sitting up in a hospital bed on the far side of a large private room, blue eyes bright in a wasted face. He looks pleased to see me. Like a lot of people in his position, I am betting he doesn’t get many visitors.

“Ella,” he says when I am standing at the foot of his bed. His voice makes me falter. There is such joy in it. Such relief. It almost makes me feel ashamed, though I don’t quite understand why. “It is so good of you to come.”

“Of … of course,” I say. Not correcting him about my identity for so many reasons.

“Do you need money? Is that why you are here?” The words are delivered without rancor: as though that would be the natural course of events.

“No.” I wonder what to say to keep him from suspecting I am not who he thinks I am, then realize it probably doesn’t matter.

“Oh. How funny. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you when you weren’t looking for money.”

“Well, I’m not now.” I say it evenly, with no extra weight on any syllable.

The sound he makes indicates he is digesting this. I settle into the visitor’s chair across from the bed. I tell myself I am doing this to make sure he doesn’t suspect anything, and no alarms will be sounded, but a part of me knows I am just stalling. I am here to do something, but now that I am here, I am no longer sure I have the gumption.

“How is Thomas?”

The simplest question is difficult when you have nothing to go on. I opt for the oblique.

“How is he? He is Thomas,” I say. “You know.”

He laughs at that. A scratchy, hollow sound, like he hasn’t laughed in a long time, and I figure that’s probably true. From what I can see and from what I know, he hasn’t had much to laugh about. “All true. You’ve said it very well.”

The ricin is in an envelope in my purse. The creation and drying of it had gone like clockwork, exactly like the instructions I’d followed so carefully had advised. I’d had some vague plan of blowing it into his face, preferably while he was sleeping. I hadn’t expected wakefulness or welcome. Hadn’t anticipated joviality. Hadn’t expected kind of liking him and his intelligent blue eyes.

I’d read about the effects of ricin poisoning. It would be an ugly, painful death. Inelegant. In my mind’s eye, it had all seemed very easy. Seamless. Sitting here across from the frail old man, I wonder if I can do it that way. I am beginning to doubt it.

A nurse bustles in, pulling me from my thoughts.

“Oh, Alistair,” she says brightly. “You have company. How nice! Who is this?”

“This is my great-niece, Ella,” he answers before I have the chance to manufacture anything. I watch the nurse’s face but don’t see a flicker. If Ella has ever been here, the nurse hasn’t seen her. Nor does she look as though she felt I shouldn’t be here. Maybe sign-in wasn’t part of what she monitored. I allow myself to breathe.

“Well, nice to meet you, Ella,” she says. She seems warm. Friendly. I get the feeling that she might be welcoming to any relative who chose to spend time with one of her charges. “I’m Jenny.” And then kindly to Alistair, “It’s near the end of visiting hours, Al. I’ll leave you alone for a bit. But at quarter after, I’ll have to come back and kick her out.” She closes the door behind her quietly as she leaves the private room, and I realize I have a solid twenty minutes to do whatever needs to be done. My heart flutters towards panic, and I calm it with a breath. Calm it, also, with the thought that this is something I am required to do. I can walk away, sure. But the people responsible for giving me this assignment won’t give me more if I do that, I’m certain of it. This is a single chance kind of thing. An audition, even. Anyway, if I don’t do it, someone else will. There is always someone else. And if not someone, then time. Alistair is old. One way or another, he has used up all of his time.

I am moving before I realize I’ve made a decision. A pillow muffles the Bersa’s already silenced bark and blocks Pattison’s view of what is coming. Blocks my view of those sharp blue eyes. It is over almost before it began. Easy. Though an unseen part of me bleeds.

I flush the ricin before I leave the private hospital room. It all just seems kinder this way.

Back in my rented car, I text the number.

It is done.

There is no reply, but