Carnie had studied her printout from the pharmacy and selected Nancie Jo Gristel as the first ‘volunteer’ for her Hideaway Hospital Clinical Trial. She had learned from Elmo’s internet printouts that Namenda was being prescribed for patients with moderate to severe cases of Alzheimer’s. She had selected Nancie Jo at random from the list and located her house on the map. She hoped it might be easy since the house was at the end of a dead end street. If the driveway was on the dead end side of the house, Mrs. Gristel would be a perfect choice.
Carnie’s 2005 white Chevy Malibu was just one of a few dozen driving around in Coreyville. She had swapped out her license plates with a set she took off a junkyard car, just in case some neighbor actually took notice and remembered the plates. She figured nobody would find it odd to see a nurse visiting an 81 year-old Alzheimer’s patient at 11:00 AM.
The house was on the left, at the end of Bowie Street. She parked in the driveway, behind Nancie Jo’s car, and walked to the side door, near the back of the house. She wondered if Mrs. Gristel was fearful about living all alone. The fact that the old woman’s most-used door faced the woods rather than the other homes seemed particularly dangerous.
As she stepped onto the porch with her medical bag in hand, she heard someone playing the piano. She knocked and waited a full minute. Finally the music stopped and she knocked again. Twenty seconds later the door opened.
“Yes?” said the old woman.
“Hi. Are you Nancie Joe Gristel?”
“Yes, I am.”
“Well, I’m from Dr. Johnson’s office.”
“Really? I’ve never seen you before.”
“That’s because I’m new. Just started this week.”
“I see. Well, what can I do for you?”
“Dr. Johnson is initiating a new treatment regimen for all his Alzheimer’s patients.”
“Okay. But I’m doing fine right now. And if the doctor wants to see me, I could just make an appointment and go in to his office.”
“Oh, of course you could.” Carnie smiled sweetly. “But he’s so excited about this new medicine that he wanted to get everybody started on it right away. It’s getting rave reviews from NIH.”
“What’s that?”
“I’m sorry. The National Institutes of Health.”
“Okay. Come on in.”
Carnie went in and followed Nancie Jo to the living room. The bench was pulled away from the piano, and a piano score was opened on the music rack.
“I heard you playing,” said Carnie, nodding to the piano. “Sounded nice.”
“Thanks. I’m not really all that good, but I’m taking lessons. Now what did you say your name was?”
Carnie didn’t answer. She pulled a small pistol out of her medical bag and pointed it at Nancie Jo.
“What are you doing? I knew you weren’t from Dr. Johnson’s office! Who are you?”
“Never mind that. You’re coming with me. And you will do exactly as I say—if you want to live. Let’s go.”
Carnie motioned for Nancie Jo to walk toward the kitchen, and she complied. But when the old woman got close to the door she stopped and bent over in pain, placing her left hand on the stove for support, clutching her hip with her right hand.
“What’s the matter?” said Carnie.
“It’s my hip. It goes out on me sometimes.”
“Just take it slow and you’ll be—”
Nancie Jo swung around.
She seems to moving okay now, Carnie thought. Moving fast.
By the time Carnie saw the iron skillet in the Nancie Jo’s hand it was too late. It whacked her on the side of the head and she flew sideways onto the floor, dropping the pistol and the medical bag. Nancie Jo flung the skillet down and scrambled for the gun. Carnie tried to shake off the dizziness and run toward her. But Nancie Jo picked up the pistol and pointed at Carnie.
“Get back!” said Nancie Jo.
Carnie stumbled backward. Her vision was getting clearer. Out of the corner of her eye she noted the knife block, to her right, on the counter. It held eight or ten knives of various types and sizes. “Look, Lady, I was taking you to a hospital for clinical trials—for your Alzheimer’s.”
“Yeah, right. I may have Alzheimer’s, but I’m not stupid.”
“I’m telling the truth. You would be treated by Dr. Elmo Mobley.”
“The pediatrician?”
“Yes. He just found out his mother has Alzheimer’s and he’s desperate to find a cure.”
Nancie Jo had heard that Mallie Mae Mobley had Alzheimer’s and that Elmo had taken a leave of absence from his practice.
“There is no cure for Alzheimer’s,” said Nancie Jo.
“That’s what I’m saying. He wants to find a cure.”
“I see. So, Elmo told you to come to my house and pull a gun on me and force me to participate in his clinical trial. Yeah, that sounds like Elmo alright,” said Nancie Jo, with all the sarcasm she could muster. She inched her way toward the wall phone on her right.
“You know, you kind of remind me of my grandma,” said Carnie.
“Really? So, your grandmother points a gun at you sometimes?”
Nancie Joe took the receiver off the hook and was about to dial.
“No. But if she did, she’d be smart enough to release the safety,” said Carnie.
In the split second it took Nancie Jo to look down at the gun, Carnie grabbed a butcher knife from the knife block and launched it. When Nancie Jo looked up, it was too late. The handle of the knife hit her squarely in the forehead and bounced off.
Nancie Jo’s glasses flew off her face as she fell backward and collapsed onto the floor. The gun fell out of her hand, but it was only a few inches away. As she focused every ounce of her willpower, rolling to her stomach and reaching for the pistol, Carnie leaped at her.
Nancie Jo picked up the gun and was about to roll back to shoot Carnie. But Carnie snatched the knife off the floor and thrust it into Nancie Jo’s back. And as always, once her anger had been triggered, it quickly escalated into blind rage. She twisted the knife and ripped it out sideways. Then she gripped it with both hands and chopped at the corpse repeatedly with all her might.
*
“Here’s your BLT and Fritos.” Greg handed Cynthia the flimsy white cardboard box and gave her a quick kiss. “And your diet Coke.”
“Thanks. And I suppose you got the turkey.”
“That’s right. How’d you guess?”
It was the only kind of sandwich he ever ordered at Jane’s. Cynthia had come to realize that Greg was a creature of habit. And he took comfort in his habits. Fortunately, most of them were good ones.
“I’m sorry we have to rush,” said Cynthia.
“That’s okay. It’s worth it just to see my baby for a few minutes.”
“Thanks. You too, Sweetie.”
Greg said a blessing and they began to eat.
“Oh, yeah, you had a funeral this morning, didn’t you? How’d it go?” said Cynthia.
“Fine—for a funeral. It wasn’t so bad, really. But I would hate it if I had to do the pastor’s job. Talking about how wonderful the person was—especially if they weren’t. And you have to stand up the in front of the family and try to convince them that it was for the best—which is not so hard if the person was old and sick. But what if they were young? What if it was little girl who got hit by a car? I’m just glad I don’t have to do it.”
“I couldn’t do it,” said Cynthia.
“I couldn’t do banking. Loaning poor unsuspecting souls a bunch of money and then foreclosing on their house.” Greg frowned playfully.
“I don’t do that. If they can’t pay, I just politely suggest that they sell a kidney.”
“Wonder how much a kidney goes for these days?”
They laughed. He checked his watch. His time with Cynthia always went by so fast. “By the way, do you think your mom will go to church with us on Sunday?”
“I think so. I haven’t talked to her about it, but she is Baptist. And it’s the only Baptist church in town.”
“Yeah, but she could drive back to Marshall.”
“I would try my best to talk her out of that.”
“Did you remember that we have to take separate cars tonight?”
“Yes. What time will you be finished with your lessons?”
“I should be done by 8:00—unless somebody cancels. If so, it might be a little earlier.”
“Okay. It seems like there’s still an awful lot left to pack.”
“Oh, I’m sure we can get all done by Saturday, even if we have to pull an all-nighter tomorrow night.”
“I hope we don’t have to do that,” said Cynthia.
Greg agreed. He had often pulled an all-nighter with Cynthia in his dreams. But in his dreams they weren’t packing.