Total pages in book: 52
Estimated words: 47822 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 239(@200wpm)___ 191(@250wpm)___ 159(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 47822 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 239(@200wpm)___ 191(@250wpm)___ 159(@300wpm)
During my two AM round, I noticed Mrs. Walsh had left her door open about six inches when it should have been closed. The night light inside cast just enough glow to show a neatly made bed. Mrs. Walsh had never been one to roam, but, but occasionally she would go on “missions” to gather “intel.” I checked the bathroom first -- empty -- then the small seating area near her room. Nothing.
“Mrs. Walsh?” I called softly, not wanting to scare her if I’d missed her somewhere. No answer. I expanded my search, moving quickly down the hallway, checking the small kitchenette (dark and empty), the nurses’ break room (locked), and finally making my way toward the recreation room at the end of the hall. The door was closed, but a thin line of light showed beneath it.
When I pushed it open, the room appeared empty at first. Everything seemed to be exactly where it belonged in the room with all the board games stacked on shelves, a baby grand piano in the corner, and chairs arranged around tables throughout the room. I spotted her in the far corner, sitting in a straight-backed chair with her hands folded neatly in her lap. Waiting patiently.
“Mrs. Walsh? Are you okay?” I moved toward her, reaching for the light switch.
“Leave it,” she commanded, her voice cutting through the darkness with unexpected authority. The gentle confusion and sly mischief vanished completely. This voice belonged to a different person. Someone ruthless, who commanded and demanded obedience without question.
I froze, hand hovering near the switch. “You shouldn’t be up at this hour. Let me help you back to your room. I don’t want you to fall and hurt yourself.” It felt lame, but honestly, the woman really unnerved me.
“Lock the door, River.”
“I can’t do that, Mrs. Walsh. It’s against --”
“Lock the door.” Her blue eyes caught what little outside light filtered through the blinds, sharp and alert in a way that made my skin prickle. “What I’m about to tell you isn’t for anyone else to hear.”
My hand moved to the door almost of its own accord, turning the small lock with a click that seemed too loud in the quiet room.
“Come closer,” she said, gesturing with a hand far steadier than I’d ever seen from her. Old and frail, my ass. When I approached, she reached out and grasped my wrist with surprising strength. “I need your help with something. Something important.” I let her tug me to the chair beside her and sat.
“What kind of help?”
“I need you to deliver a message to my grandsons. They’re in Riviera Beach, Florida.” She reached over and placed her cool hand on top of mine to make sure my attention was firmly centered on her, her silver bob catching the dim light. “You’ve been checking bus schedules on your breaks.”
“That doesn’t mean I’m leaving.”
“We’ve had this conversation, dear. You’re getting antsy, feeling your wanderlust. I’m simply giving you a destination and a mission.”
I thought for a moment. If I really was going to take off, why not help out Mrs. Walsh? “Why not simply call them?”
She shook her head. “This isn’t something I would trust not to be overheard. It needs to be hand-delivered.”
Why not? I shrugged. “OK. What’s the message?”
“Memorize these three words. Don’t write them down. You have to remember them. You ready?” When I nodded, she continued. “Lockbox. Sycamore. Breach.” She spoke each word deliberately, watching my face. “Repeat them.”
“Lockbox. Sycamore. Breach.”
“Again.”
Strange, but I repeated the words. If it got her to go back to bed, I’d do whatever she wanted me to. I still wasn’t sure I was leaving or when, but if I decided now was the time, I’d deliver her message.
“Good.” She nodded, satisfied. “Tomorrow at four PM, go to the public library.” She spoke distinctly, but softly, almost in a whisper. “In the reference section, behind the 1986 World Atlas, you’ll find an envelope with something you need.”
“Mrs. Walsh, I don’t understand. What is this about? Who are your grandsons?”
She ignored my questions. “Once you have the envelope, you’ll need to find my grandsons. One goes by Crush, the other by Byte. They’re with a motorcycle club called Grim Road.”
“A motorcycle club?” My voice rose with disbelief. “You want me to deliver a cryptic message to a bunch of bikers?”
“Keep your voice down,” she hissed, glancing at the door. “They’re not just any bikers. They’re family. And they need to know I’m disappearing for a while.”
“Disappearing? Mrs. Walsh, you can’t just leave Evergreen without --”
“I need to vanish until the heat wears off.” Her expression hardened. “There are people looking for me, people who think I still have something they want.”
“What people? What do they want?” My head was spinning. This had to be dementia talking, a complex delusion.
“You’re the only one I can trust,” she continued, ignoring my questions again. “You have no connections here, no one watching you.”