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Dania Mert forced a smile when she entered the conference room. She sat at the far end, as far from the screen where Doc McDarvey would appear as she could get. She clunked her full coffee mug down hoping it would cool some very quickly. Her body was in desperate need of the caffeine but she didn't relish the idea of the scorching it would give her at its current temp. Lamartha took her seat next to the screen, Emie across from her. The two goody goodies missing their ray of sunshine kitty-lover pal. It was a shame, what happened to Abby. It was also a shame that the rest of them were stuck in a miserable dying job because four people were too messed up to put anywhere else. Dania had put applications in at so many other places but none had even called for an interview. It had to be because she was still stuck to Hart House. And Hart House was starting to look very ugly on a resume. Mason had lost so many clients over the past year, caring for his grandfather, Hart House being the biggest one. He wasn’t home much anymore either. She was starting to feel more and more like she didn’t even have a husband. So she needed to find something to get her income back and keep her occupied. Part time wasn’t cutting it. And she doubted anyone really cared what the remaining few residents were eating, just that they ate some semblance of food. She suffered through the meeting, answering questions and bringing up the questions she needed answered. She tried to ignore Miana, but the girl’s scratching pen nearly made her explode. Dania bit her tongue until she tasted blood. The scritch, scritch, scritch scraping against her nerves and drilling into her mind. She stared at the pen and the hand that dragged it over the paper. The girl didn’t even have a nice manicure, several of the nails chipped and one broken completely. When it was all over, Dania bolted up and pretended she pulled important papers together inside the cabinet marked Dietician Use in the conference room corner so she wouldn’t have to socialize. She’d never even had an official office to work from in this place. She forced herself to look intently at the nonsense in the cabinet while the others gathered their things, relaxing only after Lamartha padded out of the room. Lamartha loved thinking Dania worked hard, and as long as she thought Dania was busy, the less she added to her work load. She’d already asked her to do the mail runs and odd chores around the facility. Dania did everything with a smile. Smile and people thought all was peachy… ____________________________________________ Lamartha bustled into her office and quietly closed the door, nearly dropping all her files as she did so. She hobbled over to the desk, holding a corner of the pile with the top of her hip, and let the folders spill on the dark wood. She slouched with a loud sigh, looking at the mess. Outside, the sun shined, the grass glistening with the morning dew extra heavy from the rain showers the previous night. She sat at the desk, pulling the string to turn on the lamp so her old eyes could see the papers she needed to tuck back into their proper files. A loud hum grew, then a pop that sent Lamartha’s heart pounding at marathon level. She leaned back in her chair, rolling her eyes, decided to take a swig of her coffee only to find she’d finished it already. “Oh for crying out loud,” she muttered, then forced a deep breath into her lungs. Getting all riled wouldn’t help a thing. After a moment, she patted her hair again into the neat puff of curls on her head, stood, straightened the hem of her blouse, grabbed her coffee mug handle and headed out the back door of her office into the maintenance hallway. She first went right, pulling a new bulb from the maintenance room closet, then decided to set the box on her desk so she wouldn’t risk dropping it while she got her coffee. With the back office door still open, she moved quickly left, ignoring the section of hall that still smelled strangely. The laundry room emitted the wooshing and growling that came from the appliances on a daily basis as she strode by it and out the hall door to the staff room. Emie glanced up from her mug on the table in front of the gurgling coffee pot. Her gaze landed on Lamartha’s cup, then back to her own. “It’s a multiple cups of coffee kind of day,” she said. Lamartha groaned softly. “Seems that way. How long?” “Should be done here in a minute or two.” Deciding it wasn’t worth a trip back to the desk just to turn around again, Lamartha leaned a shoulder against the wall. “Everything okay?” Emie asked. Lamartha shrugged. “As good as it can be.” She struggled to beat down the thought of sharing the latest news she had with Emie. The detective investigating Abby’s death had revealed to her that the murderer had to be someone from inside the facility. And the cause of death had been Ativan from the one syringe that had found the poor girl’s jugular then a drug cocktail administered in one of the other syringes. The killer finished her off by smothering. And Abby had fought against her attacker so hard. Lamartha shuddered. It was all so terrible, more terrible because Lamartha knew only someone with solid knowledge of what they were doing, both with the drugs and then to get so lucky during a struggle to inject Abby. Of all in the facility, to Lamartha’s knowledge, only Abby herself was that skilled. It made no sense...

Miana Dalko fumbled with Hart House’s heavy main door, struggling to hold it and not drop her lunch or bag. Once safe from the door’s clutches, she shook off the autumn morning chill, staring out into the emptiness of the main lobby and reception area she’d called her work home for over five years. The stairs and elevators were now roped off, silent dark holes to an equally desolate second floor now vacant and mostly cleared out in preparations for the closing. Abby’s always cheery smile and morning greeting sounded to her now as only memory. A haunting memory. She shook free of it and moved behind the reception area, dropping her datebook and papers then continued on to the west door, using her card to unlock and move into the dining area and heart of the facility. The door barring the now menacing south end of the hall, used mostly by laundry and maintenance, swung open. Miana nearly choked on a breath of air that settled only when Craig’s eyes, over a pile of fresh white linens, met hers. Gone was his quick smile, but he still grinned and nodded as he said his, “Good morning.” Miana forced a grin. “Just another Wednesday,” she said. “One day closer to Friday,” Craig said. “And I’ll see this place Saturday and Sunday too,” she said with a chuckle. “It’s my weekend.” Craig’s smile shivered a little, almost unnoticeable. “Again?” “Yeah, Elrick says he needs it off for school study stuff again,” Miana said Craig nodded in understanding. “It’ll be a slow weekend for you. A safe one." Miana nodded, then used her card once more to open the staff lounge door, letting it quickly latch behind her to seal her off from the ugly desolation that now plagued Hart House. She hooked her jacket in the cubby by the door, next to Craig’s black wind breaker and Lamartha’s long-pleated beige coat. Lamartha’s coat was always there, whatever one she chose to wear for the day. The woman practically lived at Hart House. Miana shuddered at the thought, never wanting her life to be so dictated by any job. Miana moved through the motions of placing her lunch in the small refrigerator and pouring her coffee. She couldn’t pull her eyes from Abby’s pink mug with the white cat sitting on the “have a purrfect morning” cluster of words. She wondered if anyone would claim Abby’s work items as she stirred the creamer into the dark liquid steaming inside her plain green mug. She shook her head against that notion and moved out into the main area again, her back to the door that had hidden such horror only days ago. The body and blood were all removed and things cleaned, but the sight of it still burned in her mind’s eye. She forced a calm pace back toward the main lobby and greeted Dania and Markie as they rounded from the front door headed into the kitchen. Hart House was such a well oiled machine even tragedy didn’t shatter it, though things were a little darker, filled with gloom. Now the morning routine included the new RN rushing through, a sour lady, though Miana couldn’t blame her. Every morning the poor woman had to drive so far out of her way just to pass the meds since Abby was gone. Miana sucked a long drawl of the hot coffee, shook off the remnants of the morning’s chill and gloomy thoughts, then poked the computer on the reception desk into waking. It was time to focus on the residents, time to prep for the meeting in fifteen minutes, reviewing the residents’ documentation and preparing herself to be ready for their residents’ full morning routines.

Emie Carthar plopped her head down on her desk, alone in the stuffy room now since Lamartha had been forced to let all the other social workers go. Emie closed her eyes to the paper under her forehead and silently wished Lamartha hadn’t chosen to keep her. Because Lamartha thought she was so good at her job, she was saddled with all the nearly impossible tasks. The month had started out horrifically with the murder of sweet Abby. Emie missed the nurse’s companionship and laughter that seemed even more plentiful when things got miserable. The woman had always been able to lift the spirits of anyone near her even when everything possible went wrong. Emie sighed loudly and straightened in her seat. More phone calls had only led to more rejections. But now it was time for the start of the weekly assessments to check the residents’ mental coherency and well being. She gathered her notepad and sheet with the things Doc McDarvey wanted her to ask the resident. He and an RN from another facility planned to work remotely for the next few weeks. It was the only feasible option considering she hadn’t been able to find places to house the remaining four residents yet. She let herself out of her windowless office and into the main common room. Shyly Parly was the resident who concerned everyone the most. Not only had she somehow been the one who found Abby’s murdered body in the hallway used by staff, she was also the resident who struggled most with depression. Suicidal ideations were a very real and high risk for Shyly at normal times. Abby had worked with McDarvey and, over the last few weeks of September, things had been improving for Shyly again, though it hadn’t been real clear what Abby had changed. Everything with the medications listed in Shyly’s chart remained the same. Of the remaining four residents, Abby had felt the most concern and affection for Shyly. The woman hadn’t yet reached her thirtieth birthday, yet she’d had a lifetime of challenges and hurts in her life. Emie agreed with Abby and wished, of all of them, to find Shyly the perfect place to continue her healing. She walked between the remaining two game tables in the large and now very cold and empty-feeling main common room. Kevin, Alexa, and Burt sat at the small table closest to their rooms and on the couch in the center of the room facing the television high on the opposing wall. Some morning show sounded softly through the space. Burt had gone so far as to rearrange some of the furniture, pulling it all as far from the laundry hallway as he could. Emie looked over the three, the men at the table, Alexa slouched back on the couch with her arm up and rested on her head, and then about the room. Not finding Shyly, she walked to the room the two women used as a bedroom now. The rooms previously had only been used for the most high-risk residents so the staff could keep a continuous watch on them. Now the four were doubled in the rooms since the second floor was shut down. Only the two beds and two dressers filled the room. Emie spun back to the main room, wondering if Shyly hadn’t yet finished her meal. Craig, dusting the far shelves, glanced up and met her eyes. “Shyly?” he asked. Emie gave him a slight nod. “Conservatory with Miana,” Craig said. His tone seemed heavy, as it always sounded when things were amiss. “It’s been a hard morning,” Alexa called out. “Lots of tears from that one.” Emie nodded her thanks to Craig, but Alexa took the gesture as being directed to her. “You need to fix her again. I can’t sleep with all the sobbing, sobbing sobbing,” the woman rambled. Emie quickly continued on toward the clear conservatory door. Of all the rooms, it was the one residents could go to of their own accord. Sitting among the plants was a good thing for them and even the staff enjoyed being surrounded by all the green. It was also the one remaining room with some original features of the house when it was a home. As Emie neared the wall of windows, looking more closely, she saw the strawberry blond head near the center where the benches were set. She hurried to the door and pushed through, finding the CNA sitting beside Shyly. They both looked up at Emie as if startled, Shyly then quickly glanced away, her hands wringing the hem of her plain blue shirt. Miana stood, her hand on Shyly’s shoulder in a supportive tap. “I’ll see you later, Shyly. All will be okay, you’ll see.” Miana gave Emie a sad smile as she moved to the door and back into the main room. Emie slowly lowered to the bench facing Shyly, taking stock of the red and swollen eyes, the fidgeting fingers, now going to something at her neck, and her nose, redder than usual. Emie carefully greeted the woman, trying to make small talk and focus on the the beautiful day beyond the windows. Shyly nodded a few times, but said little. “Shyly, Dr. McDarvey needs me to ask you a few questions, okay?” Shyly blinked rapidly and rubbed her hands over her face. “Is he here?” “No, not today, but I talked to him this morning. He wants to make sure everything is okay for you.” Shyly’s shoulders sank again. Her hand shifted to something she pulled from her shirt collar. A flash of silver glimmered between her fingers as she absently rubbed it. Shyly answered the questions. Emie wrote down the responses, feeling her heart sink. Where Shyly had been improving weekly in September, she now seemed to be sinking back into her depression. Emie made notes as Shyly talked. “Why don’t you all just ask me? How’d I get into the hallway that morning, what was I doing there?” Emie looked up from her notepad. She hadn’t planned to push Shyly anywhere near the memory of that day. Shyly dropped the charm she’d fiddled with and clasped her hands in her lap. Emie stared at the charm. She’d seen it before, but not on Shyly. In fact, Shyly wasn’t really allowed anything around her neck, though maybe it was okay. The thin silver chain didn’t appear thick enough to cause any risk. “The laundry door was open,” Shyly said. “It’s never left open. I’ve never seen it. So I had to go see, you know, had to look. I shouldn’t have, I shouldn’t.” She buried her face in her hands again and sobbed. “Maybe if I wouldn’t have looked Abby would still be here.” Emie shook her head and moved to sit beside Shyly. “No, no, you did nothing wrong. You tried to help her.” Shyly’s shoulders shuddered. She nodded and dropped her hands to her lap again. A flash of light glinted from the silver charm that fell to the outside of her scoop-neck collar. It was a tiny, silver charm of a cat on its back, balancing a silver ball of yarn on its four paws. Emie had seen it before, every day at meeting. Abby always did have a thing for cats.