Page 5 of Cardinal House

“I said I was sor-”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re sorry. Lunatic Luna’s always so fucking sorry. You always this sorry when your patients drop dead, too?” Felicity cocks her head, her light eyes wide, brows lifted high on her head, as though the mocking is a legitimate question.

Brow collapsing, my nose scrunches, an involuntary reaction to her words, but my eyelids feel hot and my chest feels tight and I just want her to stop paying me any attention at all.

“You’re such a fucking weirdo,” she scoffs when I don’t answer. Dropping her hands to her thighs, she bends forward, putting her face right into mine, cocking her head, “Good luck in there, Loony,” she whispers. “I hear they’re all killers too.” She lifts a hand to my face, her fingertip bopping the tip of my nose with every word as she sing-songs, “Just. Like. You.”

With that, she straightens, strutting away, her long legs carrying her down the corridor. End of her blonde braid swishing across the tops of her shoulder blades like a swinging scythe.

Only when she’s disappearing around the corner do I take in my first real breath since bumping into her. My lungs burn, and my heart thuds hard in my ears, but I need to do my job before she tattles on me again. I really need this job. It’s the only thing I have that’s mine.

Rolling my shoulders back, I dip down to retrieve my pen at the same time another hand, this one large and tanned with pale green veins ridged along the back of it, beats me to it.

In a crouch, I glance up, the formal suited brother holds out my pen, clicking the end of it to retract the nib as he offers it to me, “Your pen, Miss…?”

“Oh, um, well, Lu- Beaumont, but everyone calls me loon- Luna,” I shake my head, pushing up to stand, the man’s scent making my head spin, salt and leather, something sharp like a lightning storm. “I’m Luna,” I whisper on an exhale, dropping my head, I reach out slowly, taking my lime green pen from his fingers as he too comes to stand, and shove it quickly into my breast pocket.

“Well, Luna, it is nice to officially meet you,” the man doesn’t smile, but his words sound kind and truthful.

On an exhale, I offer a tight smile, dropping my eyes back down to the ground.

“You need to come in?” he asks me, reaching past me to plant his hand flat against the door, pushing it inwards.

My eyes roll towards the small opening, the other two men still stand over their brother, side by side like sentry guards. I suck on the inside of my cheek, squashing it between my molars, contemplating entering the room.

The man holding the door pushes it wider, an invitation, as though he can sense my hesitation. But I take it for what it is, letting him prop open the door, I step inside, and as he follows me in, the doors swinging closed at our backs, it feels as though all the air in the room gets sucked right out.

All eyes fall to me, my steps feeling heavy as I move towards the bed. Head lowered, I reach the monitor, snagging the pen from my pocket, I scribble down the figures and diagnostics on my clipboard, checking the level left in the IV and making a note of it.

Nobody speaks as I work, but the weight of their collective gazes feels like boulders slowly building on my shoulders. Sweat beads along my spine, moisture gathering at the nape of my neck, my eyelids feel hot and my vision feels blurry, eyes bulging in their sockets. Studying the steady graph of the patient’s heartbeat, I start to count every spike inside my head. Making a few final notes on my board, I click my pen, tucking it back inside my pocket and then turn to make my way back out of the door.

“Luna.”

Hearing my name stops me still. The smartly dressed man with a voice just as smooth as his suit makes my spine rigid as I face the doors out into the hall. The clipboard feels heavy in my hands, short fingernails cutting crescents into the plastic coated board. I worry that he heard before, what Felicity said, what she called me. I worry he’s about to say he doesn’t want me inside this room anymore checking on his family member.

Instead, he calls out a politely spoken, “Thank you.”

And it feels sincere.

June is supposed to be dry, but it’s raining as I make my way home, taking the shortcuts through side roads and back alleys. Raindrops pelt down like bullets as they hit the top of my head, soaking into my black hair and running down my neck, my forehead, dripping into my lashes. It feels nice though, the coolness of it, because despite the rain it’s still warm.

Cars drive by, their tyres speeding through puddles gathering along the side of the road, dirty water splashing up the sides of my legs as they pass, soaking into my beige linen trousers. The material gets heavier and heavier the wetter they get, the band around my waist sagging low on my hips the further I walk.

It’s only when my toes cross the threshold of my garden path that the rain miraculously stops. I squint up at the sun breaking through the clearing wisps of cloud, the heat of the rays washing over me like a blanket of warmth. I spend just a moment enjoying it, the way the heat feels prickling across my pale skin, the little hairs on my arms drying and dancing in the light breeze. Eyes shut, I tilt my head back, bathe in the sunlight for the first time in years, and then I drop my gaze, straighten my neck on my shoulders and pull my shoulders back.

At the end of the straight brick pathway, dotted with weeds and yellow dandelions growing between the red blocks, is a large, two story, Victorian house. Two intricately carved white pillars on either side of the front door support a small, square balcony above enclosed by rusting, white, metal railings. Large Sash windows line both levels, three huge windows on either side of the balcony and front door below.

It looks like a fancy home that just needs a little love, but inside, it needs something else.

Steps slow, I swallow, making my way towards the front door, feeling my breaths coming a little too fast. Anxiety claws inside of my chest like a wild animal trying to break free, and for a fleeting moment, I allow it.

The panic.

Fear.

I’m twenty-nine years old, but when I step inside this house, I’m still the same frightened six year old little girl that was sent here to live with an estranged uncle she’d never met.

It was terrifying that first year.

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