The Silent Killer

Running through the woods, I was in a mad panic.  Damn. Lydia was going to have my head for this, that’s for sure. I couldn’t believe I overslept on the morning of her weekly staff meeting. 

Get ready, girl, it’s about to hit the fan. I entered the staff building and ran down the steps two at a time saying a little prayer that I didn’t fall and break my neck.

Entering the dark cramped room, I found the staff lined up in their uniforms with their hands behind their backs. Lydia, walking back and forth in front of them, was doing her inspection.

I was late. I had no choice but to own it. I took my place in the lineup and put my hands behind my back. I got ready.

Lydia didn’t disappoint. She never did.

Pretending she didn’t see me, she continued walking up and down inspecting each staff member, getting all close and personal in their faces. I was trying to keep calm, slow my heart rate down. I wished I could smooth my hair, knowing how wild it must look after my mad dash across the property. Nothing I could do about it now.

And there she was. In my face. I kept my eyes averted like the good little soldier I was and geared up for the attack.

“You’re late.” She stopped dead in front of me.

“I’m sorry, Miss Lydia.”

“What’s your excuse?” She breathed fire in my face with her anger.

“I have none, Miss Lydia.” I didn’t even try to justify myself. She wouldn’t care that my daughter was up all night crying with a tummy ache. That was of no concern to her. She had no feelings after all.

“Strike two. One more strike and you’re out.”

“Yes, Miss Lydia.”

“Do you understand me?” Her face was close to mine. Too close. Uncomfortably close. Creepy close.

“Yes, Miss Lydia.” How I hated that woman. Despised her. 

Taking a step back, she continued to stare at me and then finally continued her pacing back and forth.

“We received a complaint last week. A guest told me that she heard laughter outside her room. What did I tell you about laughter?”

“It’s not allowed.”  We chanted in unison.

“Why do our guests come here? What is the only thing they want to hear?”

We knew the answer, said it as one voice. “Silence.”  The obvious answer. The guests come to a silent retreat; they want to hear silence. Someone laughed last week? Oh, the horror of it all. 

“If there is another complaint this week, there will be dire consequences,” Lydia roared.

How I wished there would be dire consequences for her abhorrent treatment of her staff. I pictured lunging at her, knocking her down, and punching her repeatedly for the way she treated us. I kept my cool and held my stare into nothingness while seeing the queen of the retreat in my peripheral vision. What a nasty piece of work. What would her fancy guests think of her now? Word would spread like wild fire closing down this overpriced joke in days.

***

The last of the guests checked in and dispersed to begin their agenda of silent activities. Perhaps a hike, perhaps yoga, perhaps a massage? It didn’t matter to me. I had to clean the rooms while they were gone, and I had to do it in silence. 

Opening the first door, I was tempted to call out, “Hello… housekeeping.” I knew that would result in immediate dismissal for speaking. Instead, I peeked around the room like a little mouse. No one in the bed, no one in the bathroom. Should I check the closet? Maybe there was a serial killer in there? Someone with a sick sense of humor? 

I pulled the blankets off the bed, then the sheets and pillowcases, putting on fresh linens quickly and expertly. Fluffing the expensive pillows, I imagined Miss Lydia lying in the bed with her nasty face and beady eyes telling me I was fluffing too loudly. In a moment of hysteria, I pictured placing that luxurious pillow down on Miss Lydia’s face and holding it there in silence. Would she finally scream? Or would that be breaking the rules? We wouldn’t want to break the rules, now would we?

Finishing up the room, I gathered the dirty linens and towels and crept out carefully, opening and closing the door slowly. Sometimes they stick or squeak or click, all grounds for punishment. 

I made my way down the hallway to the last room in my care, approaching the coffee cart. How I longed for a hot cup of coffee in a comfortable chair as my back and feet were starting to ache. Did I dare take five minutes? No one would even notice if I poured myself a steaming cup. I smelled the rich aroma tempting me. Then I heard Miss Lydia’s shrill reminder in my imagination. “One more strike and you’re out.”  I couldn’t do that to my daughter; we needed this job. 

Life had been perfect living in those acres of beauty, exploring mountain trails, swimming in the lake, relaxing in the sauna. It was a dream come true, with the free room and board the icing on the cake. Until Miss Lydia arrived, showing her true colors to the staff, turning the dream into a nightmare.

Staring at the coffee pot I imagined pouring a cup and stirring it ever so gently, careful not to clink the side of the cup with the spoon. Round and round making sure that little dash of powder dissolved completely before handing it to my boss. “Drink up, my love,” I would think, waiting for the drug to take effect.

I passed the coffee cart not even daring to slow down to tempt fate. I had to get the dirty linen to the laundry room. No time for dilly dallying. Not today.

***

Lying in bed I listened to my daughter’s steady breathing feeling grateful that she had turned the corner. Her color was back to normal and so was her disposition. Thank goodness.

I turned onto my side trying to get comfortable on the flat pillow under the thin blanket. I groaned as a bedspring poked me sharply. Despite my extreme exhaustion, I wasn’t expecting to get a good night’s sleep. I got up silently and slipped on my sneakers and put a hoody over my pajamas.

***

I woke with a pounding heart to a shrill whistle. I sat straight up and quickly swung my legs over the edge of my bed. 

Stroking my daughter’s face, I smoothed her hair and pulled her blanket closer over her. I smiled and nodded, giving her a gentle kiss.

***

Rushing into the staff room, I took my place in line, held my hands behind my back and averted my stare.  Miss Dolores came into the room looking quite panic stricken and silently stood in front of us for several moments before finally breaking the spell.

“I’m afraid I have some shocking news.”

The silence was thick. Overwhelming. I held my breath.

“Miss Lydia is dead.”

Gasps ricocheted around the room, questions swirled about haphazardly. 

 “It appears she may have had a stroke. The silent killer.”