The Grim Reaper's Dance

the minister declared us husband and wife, a bolt of lightening lit up the sky outside the windows, and thunder rolled over, shaking the floor. The rain came so suddenly, pounding the roof, running down the windows. Reuben kissed me, and I laughed, happy we would be together forever.” Her voice cracked, and she came back to the hospital room.

“Forever,” the old man said. “That’s a long time.”

Casey looked at her finger, and thought about the rings, hanging with the rest of her things in a garage in Clymer, Ohio. “Yes.”

“My Joyce is already gone. But I’ll be joining her soon.” His voice wavered, and a spark of fear entered his eyes.

Death swooped over the man, sniffing, peering into the man’s eyes. “Maybe. Maybe not. I haven’t heard anything yet.”

“It will be all right,” Casey said to the man. “You don’t need to be afraid. Death is…” She glanced at her companion. “Death isn’t always as terrible as you think.”

The man looked at her. “You’ve dealt with it?”

“More than I like. It’s with me constantly.”

“Yes,” the man said. “I believe you. I can see it in your face.”

Casey smiled gently. “I’m sorry, but I really need to be going. Can I get you anything?”

“A drink of water would be nice.”

Casey picked up the blue hospital cup from the bedside table and tilted the straw toward the man’s mouth, supporting his shoulders while he drank.

He took several swallows before sinking back into the pillows. “Thank you, dear.”

“You’re welcome.” She set the cup down and patted his hand. “Do you have anyone to come visit?”

“My children and grandchildren come in and out, but no one stays. Everyone’s busy, has places to go. It’s all right.”

Casey’s face went hot. “Aren’t there at least volunteers who will sit with you?”

“No. The candystripers want to spend their time in the pediatrics ward. I can’t blame them. No one— especially a teen-aged volunteer—wants to spend time with old people. We’re boring. And crabby.”

Casey gently squeezed his hand. “I think you’re nice.”

He smiled. “You’re nice, too. Now go on. Go do whatever it is you have to do. Even if you don’t really work for the hospital.”

She gasped.

“You’re afraid of something, honey, even if it’s not death, like me. I hope you can conquer it.”

She bit her lip, not sure what to say.

“Now go on, get moving. Save the world. Run away. Whatever it is you’re doing.”

“I’m sorry,” Casey said. “I wish—”

He flapped his hand toward the door. “Go.”

Casey set his hand down and escaped, leaving the man and Dr. Shinnob behind.

Chapter Fifteen

The orthopedic floor was still and dark. No one rushed around, pushing carts and checking vitals. Casey could hear the hum of machines, but other than that it was as if the floor were deserted. She had opted for the stairway, figuring the elevator would open right at a desk, and she was glad she’d thought of it. A young man in green scrubs—of course not blue—stood at the counter with his back to her, examining an x-ray on a lighted screen.

From the numbers Casey could see by the room doors, Bruce Willoughby’s would be down the hall. Casey would have to go past the man at the desk.

“Here’s where the costume comes into play,” Death whispered.

“Or I just wait till he goes to the bathroom.”

“By that time, someone else will be there.”

True.

A rolling desk with a computer sat just down the hallway—the kind used by nurses when making their rounds. Casey figured the staff didn’t need to worry about patients on the ortho wing running off with it. Casey began pushing it down the hall, checking the room numbers. As she went past the desk the man glanced up, and Casey nodded, much as she had nodded to Dr. Shinnob only minutes before. The man nodded back, and returned to the x- ray he was examining on the lighted screen.

Nods were coming in very handy.

“Here,” Death said, pointing into a room. “Your guy.”

Casey stopped outside the door. “I wonder why there’s no cop stationed here?”

“Not exactly a flight risk,” Death said. “Plus, the only thing he did—that the cops know about—was get beat up at Davey’s junk yard. By the time they got to him, he had no gun or anything.”

Casey peered in the door’s window, hoping Bruce would be asleep. No such luck. He had his hand on a remote, and his face was lit up by the television.

Death held up a finger. “Lights, camera—”

Casey slid her bag onto the shelf of the rolling desk and backed into the room, pulling the computer behind her, right up to the bed.

“Again?” Bruce whined. “How many times do I have to pee in a cup?”

“No peeing,” Casey said, and she turned around.

“Then what?” Bruce kept his eyes on the TV. “Blood pressure? Temperature? Sponge bath?” He leered at that one.

Casey pinched the top of his shoulder on a pressure point, and his eyes went wide. She relaxed her grip enough he could turn to look at her. It took him a few moments, but recognition hit him like a brick. “You?”

“Yes, Bruce. It’s me.”

He fumbled for the nurse button on his bed, and Casey grabbed his arm. “If you so much as think about pushing that button, I’m going to do this.” She tightened her fingers, and he dropped his hand.

“Good,” Casey said. “We understand each other. Now, you are going to answer some questions.”

He shook his head, as much as he could with his nerve pinched.

“No?” Casey laid her hand on his destroyed knee, and he whimpered. She wasn’t really going to do anything to his poor leg, but the threat should be enough. “I think the people in this hospital—as well as the cops—would be very interested to know how you and your buddies came to the scrap yard with guns and threatened the owner.”

He opened his mouth, but she continued. “There are witnesses, Bruce. Now, what’s your name?”

“You seem to…know it.” He panted in-between words.

“Just a test. Tell me.”

“Bruce. Willoughby.”

“Good. And the name of your boss?”

He shook his head.

“I already know that, too. After seeing him at the scrap yard I looked him up.”

Bruce’s forehead smoothed. “Him? That’s Randy. Randy Westing.”

So he wasn’t Bruce’s boss. Just an underling, of some sort. “And the other guy? Craig?”

Bruce sneered. “Dumbass.” He looked her up and down, trying to look tough. “Knocked out by a girl without a fight.”

Casey twisted his shoulder. “At least he’s walking.”

Bruce had no response for that. Not that he could’ve responded at that moment, anyway.

“So,” Casey said. “Where is Randy camped out? Where is he waiting for you?”