The young woman laughed, shook her head, and followed him inside to his small kitchen. She took a seat on an old, worn red vinyl and chrome chair.
“Coffee?” Stathi inquired.
She shook her head. “No, thank you. But please, don’t let me stop you.”
“I will wait,” Stathi replied, sitting down across from her. “Greek coffee, well, it takes a bit of time to brew properly.”
“We can certainly begin with your vitals, then.”
“Excellent.” Stathi rolled up his left sleeve, forgetting the new nurse had never seen his scars before. Her eyes widened only slightly as she opened her bag. Stathi chuckled. “Old injuries. Nothing new, I promise.”
“I read your file,” Tochi replied, “but I had no idea the scars were so extensive. The description does it no justice.”
“Shrapnel tends to do things to a body,” Stathi sighed, “as my forearm is happy to reveal.”
“Yes, I’ve seen injuries such as these before,” Tochi stated.
The conversation dropped off as she took his vitals, set out his medications, and took his temperature. “Are you feeling all right?”
“Yes,” Stathi answered.
“No suicidal thoughts or such?” she asked, smiling pleasantly at him.
“No,” he assured her.
She asked him several more questions, using her computer to record his answers. When she finished, she looked at him and flashed a pleasant smile. “You’re in great shape.”
“Thank you,” Stathi nodded, rolling his sleeve back down. He glanced at the medication bottles on the table. “Same as always, Nurse Tochi?”
“Same as always,” she smiled.
She stood up. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Stathi. I will see you next week.”
“Excellent,” Stathi replied, getting to his feet and walking her to the door. He bid her goodbye and closed the door behind her. For a moment, he stood there, hand on the doorknob, reminded of how alone he was.
Ah well, it is nothing new, he chided himself. Do not bemoan your fate or begrudge others for what they have.
He walked to the counter and picked up a half-finished bottle of Ouzo. From the cabinet above it, he removed a small glass, and he carried them both to the table. Sitting down, he took a deep breath, knowing that he would, in all likelihood, empty the bottle, and thus, be too inebriated to do anything more than sleep.
So be it, he thought and poured the first drink.
At the end of the third, the world refused to remain in focus, and his hands were too unsteady to risk pouring another shot. I’m going to have to stand up soon.
He chuckled at the idea. Will I fall and kill myself? Die from a broken skull? A broken heart certainly didn’t do anything.
A flash of memory reminded him of his wife’s death, and he shoved it aside.
I don’t want to be sad today. Not today. I am sad enough on most days.
Stathi straightened up, capped the bottle, and warily pushed himself away from the table. When he stood, he wobbled and was forced to place his hand on the wall to steady himself. He closed his eyes, tried to balance, and then opened them, only to let out a horrified gasp.
A woman stood a short distance from him. His hair stood on end as he looked through her.
“What do you want?” he whispered.
She looked at him with surprise. “You can see me?”
He nodded.
“Huh, go figure,” she said, shaking her head. “You’re the second one I’ve met.”
“Why are you here?” Stathi asked, forcing himself to sit back down. “Are you Death?”
She laughed, a pleasant, almost musical sound. “For some people, yeah, I guess I am. I don’t think I’m going to kill you, though, old-timer.”
“Oh.” His shoulders sagged.
Her head tilted to one side. “Why?”
He let out a bitter laugh. “I am alone in this world, miss. I have outlived my wife and my friends, my parents and my brothers. There is none of my blood left alive. I get up, I breathe, I eat, and I sleep. There is little else for me to do.”
She pursed her lips and then shook her head. “Guess it’s kinda terrible, getting old.”
“Yes, it is,” Stathi agreed. “Where did you come from?”
“A few houses up,” she replied. “I was bored. I didn’t want to try the cop outside the place. Cops, you know, you can’t really push them around.”
“Ah.” Stathi peered at her. “Forgive me, but you appear to be nervous. It is a strange sight.”
She laughed. “I bet. Yeah, I’m nervous. There’s a guy, he’s trying to catch me, and I’ve seen him twice around the house now. Part of me wants him to catch me because he’s okay lookin’ in this weird way, but part of me knows how bad it would be.”
Stathi was beginning to relax. He brought his hands together on his lap and asked her, “How does he look weird?”
“Guy’s got no hair. I mean, none at all. Weirdest thing.”
Stathi frowned. “The person you describe sounds almost like one of my former students. He was a young man stricken with a rare disorder that caused the loss of all his body hair. You don’t happen to know his name, do you?”
“Shane Ryan, he said, though I don’t know if he was telling the truth,” she answered.
Stathi smiled. “He was. I taught him in high school. An extremely gifted student. He had a full scholarship to a divinity school but chose instead a life of service as a Marine. You know, he lives close by.”
“Really?” she asked, a note of excitement in her voice.
“Oh, yes,” Stathi nodded. “If you were to follow East Stark Street up and then turn left onto Berkley. It is number one twenty-five, I believe.”
“And it’s close by?”
“Yes, everything in Nashua is,” he told her. “Less than a quarter-mile.”
“It’s good to know where he lives, so I can avoid him if I have to,” she confided.
“I am sure.” Stathi hesitated a moment before he asked, “What is your name?”
“Miriam.” She smiled, and he wondered how anyone could have shot the woman.
“That’s a beautiful name. It was my wife’s as well.”
“Stathi, you ever think about suicide?” the dead woman asked.
“Of course, but I could not. My upbringing would never allow it.”
She nodded and turned to leave.
“Miriam,” Stathi said.
She looked at him.
“I know you’re dead, but you could certainly leave by the back door if you like.”
Miriam smiled. “I would like that.”
Stathi stood up, took hold of the doorknob, and twisted it even as something cold and hard slipped into his back. The bizarre sensation of fingers closing around his heart sent a shiver of fear through him.
“I can do this for you,” Miriam whispered in his ear, and she squeezed his heart in her hand.
Stathi stiffened, then sagged, and hung, impaled upon the dead woman’s hand as she stopped his heart from beating.
Chapter 40: Manchester
Tuesday, 2:45 PM
Shane had left both his knife and his Colt at home.