Doctor Who_ Relative Dementias - Mark Michalowski [22]
Suddenly she heard the crack of a twig, sharp as gunfire, somewhere in the wood to her right. She turned, and caught sight of a brief, dark blur of movement as someone – or something – small and slender darted behind a tree. She felt her pulse begin to race. Ace took a few steps towards the edge of the road, taking some small comfort in the weight of her backpack and its contents. She cast around on the ground for a stick big enough to use as a club, and, as she did, she saw another flicker from the woods.
‘Who’s there?’ she called, picking up the nearest branch and gripping it tightly, feeling its cold, slimy surface in her hand.
Away in the distance she heard the crashing noise of footsteps, but the trees were too dense for her to see anything. The sounds faded away. She really didn’t feel up to chasing them, whoever they were. Perhaps it was the lad with the bike, hoping to scare her, pretending to be the Ghost of Graystairs. Or maybe it was the figure that she’d not-quite-seen on the village green.
‘Dickhead!’ she muttered under her breath, and threw the stick down.
A few minutes later, as she climbed the mossy steps to the front door, she’d almost forgotten about her stalker. She cast her eyes over the windows, noting their neat uniformity, their matching curtains and window boxes. A small, grey lump at the edge of the lawn caught her eye, and glancing round she crossed quickly to it. Squatting down, she saw that it was the still and lifeless body of a squirrel. Something tightened up inside her chest as she gently touched the frail corpse. It was cold and surprisingly thin and bony. Part of its tiny head had been blown away by what she imagined had been a bullet, leaving a dark brown crust of dried blood. What kind of sickos did they have here, taking potshots at squirrels?
Taking a deep breath, she went back to the door and gave it a sharp rap. She heard muffled calls and someone shouting ‘OK!
OK!’. Then the door opened, and a shiftless-looking man in his late twenties stood there; sullen face, shirt hanging out of his trousers. His slicked-back hair reminded Ace of something from the fifties – or of someone whose mother dressed him in the morning.
‘Yeah?’ he asked charmlessly.
‘Oh, good afternoon. I’m here to see Mrs Brunner.’
The man turned away from her, and, assuming she was supposed to follow him, she trooped inside and closed the door behind her.
‘Wait here,’ the man said, eyeing her up and down in a very discomforting way. ‘I’ll see if I can find Doctor Menzies, but I think he’s out. You might have to come back later.’
Ace nodded and watched him shuffle away. She wondered if he was the squirrel murderer. It didn’t seem unlikely. The moment he’d gone, she glanced around the hallway – doors led off into a lounge and another corridor, whilst a curving stairway led, presumably, to the patients’ rooms. With a smile, she set off up the stairs.
The landing split into two, leading left and right; and at the end of the right-hand corridor, she could see another, smaller, flight of stairs which curved away, out of sight. Unfortunately, the bedroom doors only had the names of flowers on them, not those of the occupants. She paused, wondering whether she should try doors at random. But that might attract the kind of attention she didn’t want – especially if the doctor was doing his rounds.
Just then, she heard the sound of low, female voices. Two elderly women were leaving one of the rooms on the stretch of corridor that led to the second staircase: one was slim and perky-looking with neatly-permed white hair, the other much stockier –
‘a matronly bosom’ was the phrase that sprang to mind – with a head of obviously-dyed brown hair that looked so lacquered that Ace felt sure it could have doubled as a crash helmet. They stopped their conversation as they saw her, and smiled sweetly.
‘Good afternoon,’ one of them said.
‘Hi,’ Ace replied. ‘I wonder if you could help me?’
‘We’ll do our best, won’t we, Connie,’ the white-haired one said. Connie nodded.
‘I’m looking for Mrs Brunner’s room – d’you know which