Chapter Eight - Gravity

Carol stood staring through the window at the ambulance pulling away from the home. Although its siren was hushed, the lights flickered through the night sky. It was a scene she’d witnessed many times, more than would be bearable for most people. She’d accustomed herself to saying goodbye to so many of the residents through the years.

She was also familiar with the revolving team of paramedics, many of whom she befriended. At first, she found their lack of hustle in collecting the lifeless residents amusing. Of the ones who passed, they took time to chitchat, drink coffee, even check the scores on a ballgame. “They’re not going anywhere,” one told her.
In other times, when every minute counted, they stepped it up, even when there seemed to be little hope for resuscitation. The pulse, however weak, made the difference between small talk and speed.

This was one of those nights. A resident had somehow managed to open the doors to the second floor balcony and plunge close to fifteen feet to the hard ground below. Carol considered the pain he must have endured, not to mention the accompanying broken bones and possible internal bleeding. His condition was anyone’s guess, but she couldn’t help being pessimistic.

Even as she considered that pain, she also distracted herself with an extreme sense of uneasiness. Did one of her staff forget to lock the balcony deadbolt? When the investigator arrived, what would she tell them? Worse yet, if he had still had living relatives, how would she explain to them that she’d lost track of a client they’d entrusted to her care? The unthinkable had just become reality.

Was she losing control? Had her mother’s arrival turned her professional world upside down as well as her personal life? The move in had heightened nerves, if for nothing but tip-toeing between her visibly-frustrated brother-in-law and her mother. It was a feeling as being the last one to arrive at the courthouse after a divorce is final and still trying to make nice.

Several times during the move, Johnny would roll his eyes at something Eunice said, and Carol noticed. She understood the tension but had a much softer spot for her mother than she did for him. Eunice was a blood relative and they’d been through so much together. For all his faults, Johnny was a pretty good man and Eunice had worn on every nerve he had, but Carol still didn’t like seeing him reduced to juvenile responses.

“How are you holding up?”

The voice startled Carol out of mental limbo. It was Louise, who rushed to the home after getting a call from another staff. More than being second in command, she was one of Carol’s biggest supports. Her hair a slight mess from a deep sleep, she patted Carol on the back.

“I just don’t know how it happened,” Carol responded. “The elevator didn’t move, so for him to walk up a flight of stairs and down a hallway, I just figured someone would have heard him.”

Louise nodded her head.

“Have you ever tried getting that door open?” Carol asked. “It’s tough. How would someone do that?”
Louise stared, hesitating to verbalize the first thought that popped into her head. But she’d say it anyway.

“What if he had help?”

Carol sat down, offering a puzzled look. Not that she hadn’t already considered it.

“Louise, do you think someone here pushed that old man off? Do you realize we are in an assisted living home? If most of these residents tried to kill someone, they’d need our help to do it.”

Louise smiled and replied, “And I would offer my help some days.”

They both broke out laughing, a much needed respite from the worry captivating Carol’s mind.

“I think you’ve been reading too many of those mystery novels,” Carol continued.

“Well, think about it. He didn’t have any friends, especially that new roommate of his. He probably smarted off to him once too much and wham! ‘Out the door with you!’”

Carol smiled but did not laugh. The situation was once again settling on her shoulders. She considered another trip to the balcony to look things over but quickly dismissed it. She didn’t want to seem panicked. It was her job to remain cool, be professional and take responsibility.

“Where’s your picture?” Louise questioned, referring to her famous childhood snapshot with the superhero.

“You know, that’s the least of my concerns but it seems someone has taken it,” Carol responded. “My door was open all day and I was in and out, helping Mom get adjusted. You admire it so much I’d ask you where you took it, but you weren’t here. I figure one of these kids took it and it’ll be eBay next week or something. I don’t have the time or the energy to look into it.”

“Have you talked to his roommate?”

“Well, he knows, but I haven’t spoken with him,” Carol said. “It’s late but maybe I’ll go see if he’s still up.”

“Well, I’m here if you need me,” Louise said. “I’ll stay here and see if corporate calls back. I’m not sure what they do in a situation like this but I think they might send an attorney or something.”

Carol walked down the hall toward Neville and Duncan’s room. As she got approached, she heard the sound of a radio, giving her the impression someone was awake. It also occurred to her that this conversation she was getting ready to have had already occurred recently, but with a different deceased roommate. A tiny thought in the back of her mind began to grow, creating a suspicion around the grumpy old man. He had, in fact, demanded a private room.

And what was he doing on the floor the night of Mr. Johnson’s death? Never in a million years would she have suspected the weak man of being able to muster up the energy to hurt anyone. He struggled to get out of bed. After the incident at the mall, he was more helpless than ever, moving around with an aluminum cane.

She began to feel silly for entertaining the notion. Had Neville climbed those stairs, she thought, he would have needed oxygen at the top. And how would he have persuaded Mr. Cleary to follow him? Yes, it was a silly thought. It was easy to blame the mean old man nobody liked. How she wished it were that simple.

But the thought still nagged at her. With Mr. Cleary battling dementia, he would have been ripe for Neville to convince he was a paratrooper or a high diver.

She knocked gently and opened the door. Neville laid on his side, slightly curled with only his sheets covering him. He eyed her as soon as she walked in, waiting for her to speak first.

“You okay in here, Mr. Ramsey?” she asked.

“Yes, Ms. Leonard, I’m fine,” he responded. “I hear my roommate wasn’t so lucky. Was he testing the law of gravity, you think?”

He shifted to his back and sat up a little, fluffing a pillow behind his head. She wasn’t laughing.

“I imagine he’s hurt pretty badly,” she said. “When did you last see him? Were you awake when he left the room?”

Neville smirked a little and questioned, “Are you solving the mystery now? Are you going to dust for fingerprints and pull out your magnifying glass?”

He could tell she wasn’t amused. Against his nature, he changed his tone.

“Sometime during the night, Mr. Cleary walked out of this room. I was fast asleep so I didn’t see him leave.”

“Do you think anything was wrong with him?” Carol asked.

Neville started giggling, then coughing as he erupted into full laughter.

“Ms. Leonard, did you ever meet my roommate?” he replied. “His mind went in a million different directions. He had no idea who he was.” He continued to laugh. “And you ask, ’Is there anything wrong with him?’”

“You know what I mean,” she shot back. “Was he down or depressed?”

Neville rolled over to his other side, facing the wall.

“I’m not a psychiatrist, but if I were, I’d start charging you by the minute,” Neville said. “Perhaps even then, I’d have to tell you I’m not at liberty to discuss my patients. I’m going to tell you again – I never saw him leave, he was as crazy leaving this room as he was coming in and as far as I know, he’d just had enough. Give me another week with him and it might have been me prancing off that balcony.”

In her quest for answers, Carol had regretted even hoping Neville would be of any assistance. She knew he was not-so-secretly delighted to have his privacy back, but she couldn’t put her finger on how he could have persuaded Duncan to jump. In her gut, however, she knew something wasn’t right. Was this possibly a sick rebellion for her suggestion that he look after him? In hindsight, she should have shuffled rooms and placed him with a more cooperative client. When he returned, if he returned, that’s probably what she should do.

As she walked out of the room, she glanced at Duncan’s belongings and a tear escaped her eye. The big man was what the average person would consider the perfect grandfather if his mind had not slipped. Still, he made for an interesting and sometimes entertaining experience around the home, trying on histories like some tried on hats.

Before she left, she spotted a small reflection of Neville’s bedside alarm clock peeking from behind the dresser. It was the edge of a photo frame, obviously meant to be hidden but somehow still exposed. She saw the black and white background and realized it was her stolen picture. She quickly decided she’d wait until the next mealtime and have a staffer retrieve it. She didn’t want to raise his suspicion.

Maybe she’d underestimated him. Maybe his frailty was a grand act. If he was nimble enough to swipe her picture without being seen, perhaps he was quick enough to lead Duncan off the balcony. Her mind spinning with possibilities, she was finally on track to uncovering the truth about her mysterious resident.