The Night Girl: The Complete Series Read online

  "You know". He pauses for a moment. "I'm just glad she's gone".

  "I need to change your bed," I say, figuring I have to get on with some actual, proper work. "Can you go and sit in the chair?"

  It doesn't take me long to get the bedsheets changed, and fortunately Kenneth himself is totally clean. I guess he was telling the truth when he claimed that Lizzie was the one causing the mess in his bed; I have no idea what was going through her head, but that woman was clearly fucked up beyond belief. As I finish sorting Kenneth's room out, I look over at his damaged hand and realize he's going to need some medical attention for the finger.

  "I'm tired," he says, getting up from the chair and shuffling over to the bed.

  "We need to sort out your finger," I say.

  "Don't worry about that," he replies. "I'll wait until morning, and then I'll say I banged it in the night. I'll tell them I didn't want to bother you with it".

  "You don't have to -" I pause, realizing his plan is probably for the best. "Does it hurt?"

  "Not much," he says. "Go on, do what you have to do. I'll be fine. They'll just think I'm a confused old man".

  "You're not a confused old man, are you?" I say.

  He smiles. "If you promise me she's never coming back here, I'll keep my mouth shut. I don't need to know what happened. Have we got a deal?"

  "Yeah," I say. "We've got a deal".

  Reaching into his bedside cabinet, he takes out a small white packet. "I'll stick a bandage round the finger for now," he says. "That ought to help".

  "A bandage won't do anything," I say. "It won't stop the pain".

  "Better than nothing," he replies.

  "But..." I pause, realizing he'll feel better if he's wearing the bandage.

  He smiles. "You're a good girl, Juliet. I could tell that from the moment I met you".

  Without saying anything, I turn and head out of the room, taking the soiled bedsheets with me. I only have half an hour before the shift ends, and people are going to start arriving soon. Once the bedsheets are in the laundry chute, I finish checking on all the residents and finally I go to complete the logbook. I don't know where to begin, so I just enter the most basic details about the patients, carefully omitting all the details of Kenneth and his broken finger. My heart is racing, and I feel as if it's only a matter of time before someone finds Lizzie's body. I can imagine the headlines now: I'd be accused of murdering her, and my whole life would be dragged out by the media. I don't know if I could go through all of that.

  With the logbook filled out, I head back to the wards, panicking a little. I'm convinced I must have forgotten something, and finally I remember the fire extinguisher. I left it propped outside Kenneth's room, so I hurry to the red ward and make sure everything is back in place. Once I've checked and double-checked everything, I realize there's nothing to indicate that anything strange happened tonight. The only difficult part is going to be explaining why Lizzie isn't around. I'd like to believe that Jennifer was telling the truth when she said she'd sort it out, but I can't bring myself to rely on her just yet.

  As I'm heading back to the reception area, I hear the sound of someone moving about. Checking my watch, I see that it's 6am, which means Mr. Taylor is probably here. Sure enough, I see him in his office, checking the answering machine. My heart is pounding as I walk over to the door.

  "Huh," he says, putting the phone down. "I'm sorry I didn't pick up when you tried to call me, Juliet. Have you been okay here on your own?"

  "Yeah," I say, feeling my chest tighten.

  "I've known Lizzie for three years, and I never thought she'd do something like this".

  I stare at him. "Like... this?"

  "Did you hear the message?" he asks, reaching down and pressing a button on the machine.

  "Fuck this place and fuck you," Lizzie's voice says. "I was going to give you two weeks' notice, but then I figured I'd rather screw you over. So I'm walking out mid-shift. Good luck with your stinking retirement home". The message cuts out.

  "That was Lizzie?" I ask.

  "About two hours ago," he says. "Did she say anything to you before she left?"

  I shake my head, trying to work out how Lizzie's voice ended up on the machine.

  "So she just stormed out?"

  I nod.

  "Bitch," he replies, opening his briefcase. "Don't worry, I'll find someone to take her place tonight". He pauses for a moment. "So you've been running the place single-handed since she went?"

  I pause for a moment. "Yeah," I say eventually, realizing I have to make this sound convincing. "I just... It wasn't that hard, really. I just checked on the residents and made sure everything was okay".

  He sighs. "State regulations mean we could be sued, big-time, if anyone found out about this. You're not a professional carer, Juliet, so technically the facility has been unmanned since Lizzie left. I need your absolute promise that you won't breathe a word about this to anyone. We could be fined hundreds of thousands of dollars".

  "I won't say anything," I tell him, relieved that he seems to be focused on the bureaucratic side of the whole mess.

  "Good," he says. "I'm glad to know I can rely on you".

  "So did Lizzie have many friends?" I ask. "Any family?"

  "No," he replies. "The bitch was a loner. I mean, can you imagine anyone putting up with her?"

  I smile, realizing that maybe Jennifer was telling the truth when she said she could make sure everything would be okay. It seems crazy, but perhaps Lizzie really can just vanish without anyone asking too many questions, especially if Jennifer is able to replicate her voice. This whole thing feels like it's too good to be true.

  "Did she say anything to you at all?" Mr. Taylor continues. "What happened, exactly?"

  "She didn't say anything," I reply, figuring I'd better keep this as vague as possible. The last thing I want to do is start complicating things by wrapping myself up in a bunch of lies. "I didn't even hear her leave," I continue. "She was here earlier, but now she's gone".

  There are voices through in the reception area, which means the nurses for the day shift have started to arrive. I'm sure there'll be plenty of gossip about how Lizzie just upped and left, but fortunately the abandoned ward is off-limits. The chances of anyone happening to wander through there are low, and I've got a feeling that Jennifer will help keep Lizzie's body a secret. For now, at least.

  "That's weird," Mr. Taylor says, staring at something on his laptop. "Did you notice anything weird with the cameras last night?"

  "Cameras?" A cold panic hits me in the guts as I realize there are security cameras dotted all around the building.

  "It looks like they reset themselves," he says, clearly a little confused. "I guess they weren't recording last night".

  "Huh," I say, feeling the panic subside.

  "Off you go," he continues. "You're due back here in sixteen hours".

  "Sure," I say. "I'll just go and get my things". Turning and hurrying out of the office, I make my way through the corridors until I reach the door to the abandoned ward. As soon as I get there, I see Jennifer staring back at me through the small glass window.

  "All good?" she asks, smiling.

  "All good," I say.

  "You want to come in?" she says. "Hang out a little?"

  I shake my head. "Gotta get home".

  "How's that for gratitude?" she continues. "I saved your ass tonight, and you don't even want to spend some quality time with me". She pauses. "It's okay. You're scared, I understand".

  "I'm not scared," I say.

  "Yes you are," she says, "but don't worry. No-one's going to find Lizzie. She's safely stowed away. Let's just hope her replacement is a little nicer to the residents".

  "How did you leave that message on the machine?" I ask.

  "The same way I impersonate Jennifer Mathis when I'm talking to you," she replies. "It's easy, really, once you know how".

  I stare at her for a moment. "I have to get home," I say eventually.

&
nbsp; "Home," she says. "Sounds nice".

  "I'll come and see you soon," I say, stepping away from the door.

  "Aren't you going to ask?" she says.

  "Ask what?"

  "You're not?" She smiles. "If our roles were reversed, Juliet, I'm damn sure I'd have asked one very big, very obvious question by now".

  "I've already asked what you are," I say. "You wouldn't tell me".

  "Not that," she says. "The other big question. The bigger question".

  "I don't know what that is," I say.

  "I know you don't". She pauses. "I'm sure you'll think of it at some point. Let me know. I'd be quite surprised if you never managed to work out what I mean. In the meantime, I hope you'll maybe swing by and see me during your next shift. It'd be good to see you again".

  "Maybe," I say.

  "Goodnight, Juliet," she replies. "It was very nice seeing you again tonight".

  "Yeah," I say, turning and hurrying away. I can't deny that Jennifer Mathis saved me tonight. Without her, I'd have been unable to hide Lizzie's body, at least for long. At the same time, I can't help feeling that I should be careful of accepting her help too readily. That whole abandoned ward is creepy; it's as if Jennifer has the ability to draw certain emotions out of me and then take them away completely. Even though Lizzie was a monster, I should feel bad for killing her; instead, I simply feel an overwhelming sense of relief at the realization that I seem to have got away with it. Thanks to Jennifer, people think Lizzie quit her job and headed off to some faraway new life; if that lie can be maintained, there's no reason why anyone ever has to go looking for the body. I've got away with it completely. Grabbing my backpack, I hurry out the front door and into the slowly brightening street. As I hurry toward the bus-stop, I can't help smiling. After all, I saved the residents from a woman who was treating them like shit; for the first time in my life, I feel like I actually did something to help people.

  Chapter Eight

  Eleven years ago

  It's midnight. Wide awake in bed, I stare up at the ceiling. The whole room is a kind of dark blue, thanks to the pale moonlight that's streaming in through the window. My father closed the curtains, but I opened them again as soon as he left the room. I don't like being in the dark; I prefer it when I can see the sky. Of course, I should be asleep, especially as I've got school tomorrow morning. Every time I close my eyes, though, I see Martina's face when she opened the shoebox. I'd been so sure she'd scream like a cartoon character; instead, it was as if all the color and energy drained from her face. Next, I think of her opening her glove compartment and being startled by the jack-in-the-box. Would she know it was me who put it there? In her final moments, would she realize it was all my fault?

  Somewhere in the distance, I hear the phone ringing. I stay in bed as my father's footsteps head downstairs, and I listen to his muffled voice talking to someone. I know what he's planning; he's going to sign me up to spend time with some kind of psychiatrist. He and my mother used to argue about it all the time. He thought I needed to see someone to straighten out my head, whereas she thought I was fine and that I'd grow out of my weirdness. My mother had been granted custody in the divorce, and she successfully rebuffed my father's attempts to get her to change her mind; in the end, I had to go and see the school counselor one time, but apart from that everything was fine.

  Until now.

  After a while, I realize I've started to drift off to sleep, but I keep waking up. My father is still on the phone, and eventually I sit up, hoping to hear what he's saying. For a while, I sit in the darkness, listening to his mumbled conversation, but eventually I get out of bed and go to the door. Once I'm out in the corridor, I can hear his voice a little more clearly, and I can tell he's agitated about something. Still, I can't make out his words, and eventually I decide to walk down the stairs. My father's nocturnal activities remain something of a mystery to me, but I'm pretty sure he's not usually up this late. As I get to the bottom of the stairs, I can tell that he's engaged in a somewhat anguished and tense conversation.

  "Okay, okay," he says, "I can be there in the morning. I have to drop my daughter off at school by 9am, so I can be there by half past. Is that okay?"

  I pause, wondering what he's talking about. He sounds so incredibly tense, and I'm starting to think that maybe something's wrong. The last time I heard him talking like this, it was the night my mother died.

  "No," he continues, "I have no idea. I don't know that they've spoken very much in recent years. There was some trouble between them, though I'm not sure what. I don't think it was anything particularly problematic, but I don't have their details. Isn't that something you could work out?" He pauses. "Maybe you have some of her details on file? I don't know their numbers off-hand".

  Stepping closer to the door, I look through into the kitchen and see him sitting in his dressing gown. A cold shiver runs through my body as I realize something's definitely wrong; the last time I remember hearing my father getting up in the middle of the night and talking on the phone, it was the night my mother died. I take another step forward, but this time I make the mistake of letting my foot nudge the door; the resulting creak causes my father to look over at me, and I see to my shock that he looks as if he's been crying.

  "No," he says to the person on the phone, "I don't know about that. You'll have to ask someone else. I'm sorry". He pauses for a moment, still staring at me. "I'll call you in the morning to see how things are going. I'm so sorry, Robert". Putting the phone down, he takes a deep breath. "Juliet, do you want to come in here for a moment?"

  I pause, not sure what to do. Suddenly I realize I want to go back to bed, but I guess I don't have that option right now. I walk into the kitchen, but I keep a few steps away from him.

  "That was Robert Hopkins," he says. "Martina's brother". He pauses. "Juliet, there's been an accident. Martina was involved in a car crash while she was going home today. It was a big crash, honey, and..." Another pause, and I can tell he's finding it hard to get the words out. "Martina died," he says eventually. "It was very quick, and she wouldn't have felt anything. It was just a horrible, horrible accident. There's nothing any of us can do". He reaches out and grabs a cup; as he walks over to get a cup of coffee, I see that his hands are shaking.

  "Why did her car crash?" I ask. My mind is spinning as I think of Martina opening her glove compartment and having the jack-in-the-box leap out at her.

  "I don't know," my father says. "Robert wasn't sure. He only found out a few minutes ago. We're going to talk properly in the morning".

  I watch as he sits back down at the table. He's clearly in shock, and I can't help noticing that he seems far more upset about Martina than he was about my mother.

  "Did she -" I start to say, but then I realize I can't mention the jack-in-the-box. No-one can ever know what I did.

  "Come here," my father says, reaching out a hand. To keep him happy, I step toward him, and he hugs me. "I know you didn't mean to upset her today," he continues. "Despite the little stunt with the dead cat, Martina liked you very much, Juliet. She loved spending time with you. I want you to always remember that, okay?"

  "Yes," I say blankly.

  "I'm sure you'd have ended up being really good friends," he says, still hugging me. "I hoped you'd have all the time in the world to get to know each other and -" He suddenly stops talking, and it takes me a moment to realize that he's crying. I stand completely still, wondering what to do, and after a couple of minutes he dries his eyes and pulls away from me. "You should probably get to bed," he says, forcing himself to smile. "It's late, Juliet, and you need your sleep".

  I nod, before turning and walking over to the door.

  "You can come with me to Robert's house in the morning," he says.

  I turn to him. "I have school".

  "You can have the day off," he replies, sipping from his cup of coffee. "There's so much to do, it'd be easier to just have you home". He pauses. "Don't you want to come with me and see Martina's brot
her?"

  "Sure," I say.

  "Don't worry," he replies. "It'll just be a quick trip. But, hey, at least you get to have a day away from school. That's something, right?"

  I stare at him. "Are you going to stay up?" I ask.

  He nods.

  "Good night," I say, before heading back to my bedroom. As soon as I'm in my room and I've shut my door, I climb into bed and stare up at the ceiling. I want to stay calm, but I've got this rising sense of panic that's starting to flood through my body, coupled with an intense feeling of nausea in the pit of my stomach. I keep imagining Martina, driving along, and suddenly deciding to get some cigarettes from the glove compartment; I imagine her reaching out and hitting the button to open the hatch, and pulling it down; I imagine the jack-in-the-box springing out, causing her to panic; I imagine her spinning the steering wheel, so that the car skews off the road and straight into a brick wall; I imagine everything smashing and crushing, and Martina being killed as the force of the impact rips her violently from her seat and into the windshield; finally, I imagine the jack-in-the-box in the wreckage as people hurry over to see if they can help. No-one would suspect a jack-in-the-box; no-one would suspect me.

  But I killed her.

  This is my fault.

  If I hadn't done what I did, she'd be alive.

  I murdered Martina Hopkins.

  I pause for a moment.

  I'm a monster. I'm an evil, murderous monster.

  I take a deep breath.

  No-one knows. The only person who maybe knew it was me, the only person who might have had a clue, was Martina. Maybe, in that split second between the jack-in-the-box springing at her, and the car slamming into the wall, she realized that I'd done it all; maybe, as she died, she knew it was my fault. But no-one else knows. Even if they find the jack-in-the-box in the wreckage, and even if they trace it back to me, I can just say that Martina took it with her. After all, she was mad at me because of what I did to her cat, so I can just say she must have taken the gift back. Besides, I'm just a kid, so I don't see that they'll suspect me, and...