Chapter One - Life Socks

Neville was contemplating murder. Although the morbid temptation had crossed his mind more times than he could remember, his current condition presented its own set of challenges. His lanky, sun-spotted fingers had succumbed to the crippling pain of arthritis. A further complication, he now moved at a snail’s pace, making a quick getaway impossible. Never was this more evident than his last trip to a public restroom, hugged up against a smelly urinal while men in their prime walked through like they were going through turnstiles.

He had easy access to the victim, who just happened to be his sleeping roommate. Neville assumed he was sleeping, but couldn’t imagine how such loud noises could erupt from someone in peaceful slumber. The snorts, the gasps for breath and coughing jabbed his brain like an ice pick. And here, at 3:30 am, he had reached his breaking point.

To be fair, homicide wasn’t his first choice. Several weeks before, an intern had smuggled him in a pair of neon green earplugs, only to have one lost in the deep crevices of Neville’s eardrum. She, of course, felt horrible and realized why the earplugs had been contraband in the first place. The extraction was painful and left his ear extremely sensitive to loud noises, including the snorts, gasps and coughing of a sleeping geriatric.

Because of the incident, Linda, the beautiful young intern was also added to Neville’s death list. She quickly escaped when he learned of her part-time job as a kickboxing instructor. In his condition, he decided he should stick with someone of comparable age, awareness and strength.

He knew that in younger days, kickboxer or not, she wouldn’t stand a chance and he would have bestowed no mercy. But now, at 86 years old, Neville Ramsey had exhausted his towering, frail body, squeezing out almost every ounce of energy it had. Even though he acted as though nothing bothered him about aging, his poorly-dyed halo of black stringy hair told the true tale.

One of his feet touched the floor and its contact made him tingle just a bit. He was finally going to carry this out. He smirked.

His plan was so cliche, he almost despised himself for it. A pillow to the face, he thought, how original! It was first meant to muffle the screams, but then he considered the possibility that Burt couldn’t scream quite as loud as he snored anyway. Still, it would be clean and fast. Burt was so physically weak, he couldn’t pull himself out of his bed, so Neville had no doubts about losing the struggle. By the time help would arrive, Burt’s lungs would be empty and Neville would drop to the floor, claiming he tripped checking on his “dear friend.” He had even practiced the drop, making sure he could do it without maiming himself in the process. It was a technique he’d acquired in his local theater as a young man involving a sideways roll.

He hadn’t bothered to consider the chain of events that could occur once Burt had left the building. He hoped for a private room once again, but there was no guarantee. He knew that it couldn’t get much worse. In the incredibly miniscule, remote possibility that it was – well, he’d had to get creative again.

Of all his plotting, the rubber-sole, or lack thereof, would be his undoing. The hospital socks were specially designed to give traction on smooth surfaces….if worn correctly. Somehow, during his crawl into the bed that evening, his hosiery had rotated.

When Neville’s right foot hit the floor, it kept sliding, bringing his body with it. He struggled to regain balance but the runaway foot threw his body into chaos. Within seconds, it came off the ground, with his left still firmly planted and his back pulled down by his weight. As he tumbled, he heard pops and snaps, like a person stepping on packing material. The fall was nothing like the drama technique, although were an audience watching, they would have found it unquestionably more entertaining. And painful.

Neville’s back hit the tile, sending him screaming in agony. Would anyone hear him over Burt’s maddening nasal symphony? He gave it a few good minutes before his throat began to hurt. He closed his eyes and hoped for a hero.

“God is on the mainline, tell ‘em what you want…”

Normally, Carol Leonard didn’t seem to mind third shift at Whispering Willow assisted living facility too much, but tonight she was running out of steam. The night supervisor had called in sick again and that meant Carol would have to turn in a double. Thankfully, she brought her iPod and was only halfway through her novel, Love’s Demise. Occasionally, on really uneventful evenings after meds had been distributed, the night staff would be able to squeeze in some power naps on a couch in the staff lounge while others kept their ears open for trouble. She was hoping that would be the case.

The support staff with whom she worked weren’t entirely reliable, but Carol had always been rock steady. That determination and work ethic had contributed to her quick rise from starting out four years prior as third shift assistant. To her coworkers and the residents, it was clear she loved her job. After years of working fast food and grocery and being passed over many times for promotions, some of which she suspected were racially motivated, she had finally found her niche. And it wasn’t easy to find.

Not that it was all a bed of roses. In their twilight years, many of the clients’ minds were reverting to childhood days and their bodily functions sometimes even further. Assuming her matronly role, Carol frequently held the hand of Phyllis, who would sometimes wake up wondering where she was, until she nodded back off to sleep. With a smile, she intently endured the endless stories Frank relayed like she’d never heard them before. And she played interception for romantic and relationship wars spurred on by second-chance loverboys like Bill. It had all the makings of a typical high school drama - Sweet Valley Nursing Home.

Bureaucracy also weighed down her excitement some days, laws and decisions made in a vacuum that didn’t translate well to the frontlines. A recent example included a knife set one resident had used to make threats toward a staff member. Carol and the others were forbidden to confiscate the relics by higher-ups who were concerned about infringing on the resident’s rights.

Filling out forms and longing for the comfort of the couch, she decided she was craving a candy bar. At 250 pounds and 5 foot 2, she debated with herself over satisfying her sweet tooth, but had just given up the latest yo-yo diet just a few days earlier. A new program would soon be in order, but with the holidays approaching, it hardly seemed practical to keep it going now.

“I’ll be back in a few minutes,” she told Louis, who was mopping the floor. He looked up and nodded his head.

Carol strutted down the hall, peeking through some of the door windows. The facility had some of the characteristics of a hospital but with so many long-termers, it was quite a bit more ornate and warm. On the residents’ doors hung items like grandchildren’s crayon drawings and wood-carved Scripture verses. For most, this would be their last stop before their final destination. Her purpose was to make sure it felt like home.

She was returning from the vending machine with her chocolate prize half eaten when she looked through Neville’s window to see him sprawled on the floor. “Lord, have mercy,” she harrumphed under her breath before opening the door and startling him.

Upon waking, the first thing Neville noticed was the sharp pain running like a shock through his bones. Secondly, he had to remind himself how he got on the floor.

“Oh no,” Carol remarked. “Bless his heart.”

Carol walked to the wall intercom to call for help, which was music to Neville’s ears. Perhaps after being carried back into bed, they’d get him some water and pain meds. Snoring or not, he’d be out for the rest of the night. He smiled as Carol stepped toward him until she side-stepped around, making him realize how eerily quiet the room had become.

“Yeah?,” said a voice through the intercom as Carol held the arm of Neville’s roommate.

“Burt Johnson has passed.”

Dumbfounded and still writhing in pain, Neville was surprised to feel a little bit sad.