Tina's Knitting

Tina’s eyes popped wide as the door to her room, with a hushed carpet-drag, opened barely enough to let the subdued illumination from the hallway and a figure slip in. The light was quickly gone with the soft muffled snick of the door shutting with the barely heard careful working of the handle being slowly released, but Tina’s visitor was still there – in the room. Lying in her bed, she could hear him breathing slowly and deeply. Just as she was. Both sharing together the air and the anticipated moment, but only one surviving the night.

* * *

Just a few weeks earlier, Tina was propped up in bed, ever-present knitting spread about her lap as she half listened to Priscilla chatter about the happenings at the Hillcrest Healthcare Center. Although Tina wasn’t completely bedridden, it could be a bit of a production for her to get up and about. But, since her room was at the end of the main hall, with her door open she could see, if not share in, almost all the coming and goings of Hillcrest. Even so, it seemed to make Priscilla happy to regale Tina and Priscilla did so much for Tina, it did not bother her, too much, to have Priscilla flitting about her room as she dished the latest news.

“And he just got out of prison!” Priscilla finished in her typical stage whisper.

Roused from her internal musings, Tina asked, “Hmmm, what’s that, dear? Prison, you say?”

Priscilla, completely caught up in her monologue, gave a little start and turned away from the credenza where she was straightening Miss Tina’s stack of outgoing items. Poor Miss Tina, at 82, could certainly be forgiven for not always quite following along.

Priscilla repeated, with relish, “Riverbend Maximum! He was just released last week. Apparently, he was supposed to be there for life, but he has dementia something terrible and they let him go early because they can’t take care of him.”

“Oh, my.” Tina replied. “Isn’t that something.” And then, “Dear, you are just squashing that poor package.”

Priscilla looked down and saw she was indeed kneading one of Miss Tina’s Etsy sales. The colorful hand-knitted items she produced sold like hot cakes and brought in Miss Tina a nice sum she used for her weekly hair and nail treatment as well as keeping the freshest of bouquets in her room. Priscilla was constantly amazed at how Miss Tina was able to navigate the Etsy site on her tablet (purchased from some of her very first sales) and carefully did her own packaging and labeling. Almost every weekday morning Priscilla would move a package or two from Miss Tina’s bedside tray to the credenza where she stacked them alphabetically until each Friday when she took them to the post office for mailing. Priscilla would use Miss Tina’s bank card to pay for the postage and always got $20 back in cash which she pocketed thinking it was a fair fee for her hauling the items to the post office each week. Not to mention bringing back the new mailing supplies and the dozens of skeins of yarn from Michaels – always per the written list in Miss Tina’s precise handwriting. But Priscilla couldn’t help feeling a touch guilty about the (stealing) fee, so it seemed she was always a somewhat nervous whenever she was around Miss Tina and tended to apologize about everything.

“Oh, Miss Tina, I am so sorry.” Priscilla’s fingers smoothed the paper on the small, wrapped box and she turned back to the stack of out-going on the credenza. She quickly sifted through them and slid the slightly rumpled package into the correct alphabetical order among the others – just the way Miss Tina liked it.

“That’s fine, Priscilla,” the domino tile clicks of Tina’s knitting needles continuing without stop, “Is it time for lunch?” Tina looked up with a smile.

* * *

 Tina had let her fingers do the walking and found on her tablet all there was to know about Charles Anthony Barnes. From his arrest in 1984 for the assault, torture, and murder of a 76-year-old neighbor to his tumultuous trial where it had been disclosed “The Granny Killer, Mr. Barne’s less than chilling sobriquet, was suspected of doing dreadful things to at least a half-dozen other elderly women before killing them in their homes.

While Charles, as Tina had decided to think of him – Mr. Barnes being too decorous and The Granny Killer being just plain silly – had not made much of a splash outside of Tennessee when he had been found guilty and sentenced to life at Riverbend Maximum Prison in the mid-1980s, his recent controversial and widely publicized release continued to be quite click-baity.

Scrolling through the various memes and “news” sites, Tina was able to discern Charles had been found by a board of medical examiners to not be a threat – due to his nearly comatose condition – and it would best for all concerned to have him transferred from Riverbend to Hillcrest for the remainder of his, presumably short, life. Best for whom, mused Tina.

* * *

Although she had kept a careful watch from her bed, through her doorway and down the hallway, it was several days later before Tina actually laid her own eyes on Hillcrest’s infamous new guest. Becky, one of Hillcrest’s latest hires, pushed Charles, who seemed quite squat in the wheelchair, from his room, almost exactly in the middle of the hall, toward the community and activity center, just to the left of Tina’s room.

As they approached, Tina noted how Becky looked as if she smelled something simply terrible and was leaning back as far as she could from the wheelchair while still keeping her hands, barely, on the handles. Charles expression was unchanging. Tina could have sworn, however, his eyes quickly cut to and away from her as Becky made the rolling right turn into the activity center.

The next Friday, Priscilla was in Tina’s room to collect the week’s packages for mailing and while Tina metronomically knitted, flitter around the room chirping. Mostly about the doings, actual and suspected, of their new resident serial killer.

“I know he is not supposed to be able to move, but Becky swears he is never in the same place when she comes to his room,” Priscilla told Miss Tina. “She says she leaves him by the window so he can see out and when she comes back, he is over by his wardrobe. And he never says anything, just stares and stares.” Priscilla shivered.

“That does sound a bit disturbing,” Miss Tina murmured.

“It is!” Priscilla exclaimed. Turning away from the pile of packages, she continued, “And things are disappearing again. Miss Lisa is missing her rings and Miss Patricia can’t find her opal broach.”

“Oh, dear,” Miss Tina said looking up from her knitting, “does everyone really think our new…guest is roaming about and taking items?”

“Well, who else could it be?” Priscilla asked with her hands on her hips. “It’s like when that horrible Mr. Clinter was stealing things when he was supposed to be cleaning. Once they fired him it all stopped.”

“I do believe you are correct, Priscilla,” Miss Tina, replied. Then, surprising Priscilla, Miss Tina added, “If it is not too much trouble, I believe I would like to join the others today in the activity center.”

And, truth be told, it was a bit of a to-do to get Miss Tina up and about. First was the pain-staking removal from her bed and specific placement on the dresser all of her various knitting items. Then the selection and donning of the perfect outfit from Miss Tina’s wardrobe followed by careful application of just the right touch of makeup and a brushing of her hair. When she was all ready, Priscilla would help Miss Tina slip and slide from the edge of the bed into her wheelchair that spent most of its time tucked away in the corner. Once Miss Tina was settled in, she would reach down and grip the wheels to propel herself forward – Priscilla’s hands lightly resting on the handles. She was always surprised at the strength of Miss Tina’s arms, all that knitting, she supposed.

Traveling the fifteen feet or so from her room to the activity center, Tina entered to be met by the drawling of Dr. Phil from the ridiculously large television mounted on the wall and the pleased greetings from her friends scatter-shot about the room. She gave a little extra oomph to the wheels and the wheelchair handles slid out from Priscilla’s light grasp while Tina rolled across the activity center toward the furthest corner. All the voices in the room, except for Dr. Phil’s, sputtered and went still as Tina glided the last few feet, stopped, and reversed parked right alongside the wheelchair where, like a bloated toad, sat Charles Anthony Barnes.

A dozen eyes, actually, eleven since Mr. Carter’s left eye tended to Magic 8-Ball at the best of times, stared at Tina (and Charles). Tina looked over to Priscilla and demurely asked, “Be a dear, Priscilla, and get me a nice cup of hot tea?”

Priscilla’s Hoka’s gave a little squeak on the tile floor as she about-faced and somewhat stiffly walked out of the activity center. Tina looked at Charles and watched the vein on the left side of his turkey neck pulsate at what appeared to be quite an alarming rate. Otherwise, he was not moving a muscle other than his slow, deep breathing.

The others, except for Tina, seemed to be holding their breath. The only sound in the room being Jimmie Walker extolling Medicare as “Dyn-O-Mite!” All (mostly) eyes on the two sitting side by side in matching wheelchairs like an elderly loving couple.

The spell was unbroken until a few minutes later when Priscilla came back into the activity center with a cup of tea on a saucer. She crossed the room and carefully handed it to Miss Tina, who beamed, but then, with slightly pooched lips, looked up at Priscilla and asked, “Just a touch of cream, dear?”

Priscilla’s gaze shifted slightly toward the wheelchair next to Miss Tina and sharply veered away as she wordlessly turned around and left the room once more. This time, everyone watching her departure.

Once Priscilla was out of the room, the others turned back to Tina (and Charles). After a silent count to five, in order to give Priscilla time to get back to the kitchen and out of earshot, Tina casually tossed the still very hot contents of the teacup directly into Charles’ lap.

Charles jumped straight up out of his chair and loudly croaked, “You bitch!”

But he was mostly drowned out by the startled screams of the others in the room - Mr. Carter being particularly loud and shrill. Charles took a quick step toward Tina, but, just as fast, sat back down.

Both Priscilla and Becky came running into the activity center, Priscilla with French vanilla dripping from her fist full of crushed Coffee mates, to find everyone in a shouting uproar. Except for Charles Anthony Barnes, who sat still, but red-faced, in his wheelchair with a very wet lap and Miss Tina who looked at Priscilla and calmly stated, “I am so sorry, dear, I believe I have spilled my tea.”

* * *

It took all hands-on deck at Hillcrest a couple of hours to get everyone calmed down and back in their respective rooms. The staff brought out the evening meds a bit early and several pairs of Depends needed to be changed –Mr. Carter’s being particularly odious. There was a bit of hysterical talk about Mr. Barnes attacking Miss Tina, but she said that was simply silly and kept saying how sorry she was about her accident with the tea - that she certainly hoped Mr. Barnes was quite all right.

Truth be told, Priscilla did not think Mr. Barnes had ever been quite all right. She wasn’t sure what exactly had happened between the two, but Miss Tina had looked pleased as punch when Priscilla rolled her back to her room and got her settled in bed. With all the excitement and the time it took to get everyone else settled, she was not able to take Miss Tina’s package to the post office and that meant she couldn’t collect her “fee” so she was just through. All she wanted to do was let the weekend crew take over and go home for a large glass of merlot. Still, on the way out, she stopped by Miss Tina’s room to say goodbye.

“Miss Tina,” Priscilla called out from the doorway, “I am leaving now.”

“Thank you, Priscilla,” Miss Tina replied, “Please be a dear and shut my door.”

That was a bit strange, Miss Tina usually wanted the door open a bit so she could see down the hallway. But Priscilla didn’t dwell on it much because she was really ready to go.

“Alright, then. You have a good weekend, now.”

“Goodbye, dear.”

 * * *

Tina struggled to keep the quick thumping of her heart from betraying her voice, as she spoke into the not so empty room, “Charles, is that you?”

“Libitina Keres,” came his raspy response, “that’s what it says on your door. What kind of foreigner name is that?”

“Keres is Greek. Libitina is an old family name, but I have been Tina for many, many years now.”

Tina could not really see Charles. In the slight glow coming from the nightlight in her bathroom, he was mostly just a darkness by her room door.

“You ruined it all for me here,” Charles hoarsely grumbled, drag-stepping foot by foot to Tina’s bed. “These idiots here won’t do anything, but it is just a matter of time before the prison finds out what happened today. And then,” Charles exhaled by the side of Tina’s bed, “and then,” he breathed in, “THEY WILL TAKE ME BACK!” Charles hissed ferociously.

He had grabbed fistfuls of blankets on either side of Tina’s waist and the whole bed was trembling in his fury. Charles leaned toward Tina like a lover for a kiss.

Tina’s vision had adjusted to the dimness of the room, so she was able to see Charles' snarling face floating directly in front of her. She captured his eyes with her own and presented him with a beatific smile. Charles froze in bewilderment. In that moment, Tina stretched her arm straight out from her body and then slammed her fist, tightly clasping her favorite knitting needle, into Charles’ left ear. Her thumb on the knob helped to drive the needle deep into his brain.

Charles said, “Grrk,” and his hands loosened their grip on Tina’s blanket.

“Oh, Charles,” Tina whispered to his slackening face, “and I thought this moment would be so much more difficult to orchestrate. I cannot say I am sorry about the tea, but I did have to ensure you were playing the possum.”

Tina gave three quick rotations of her hand, as if she were sharpening a pencil, and the needle did a wonderful job of simply scrambling Charles’ brains. His arms gave away and Tina was able to guide him into a side-slide so his upper body was laying across her lap while his feet were still on the floor.

Certainly not the most comfortable of positions, thought Tina, but it would be for only a moment or two. Tina reached out with her left hand and carefully inserted one of Miss Lisa’s lesser rings – not even silver, just a bauble, really, into the front pocket of Charles' robe, which very conveniently was now gaping open. Tina gave the pocket a little pat to ensure the ring was secure.

Miss Lisa’s other rings, of much better quality, along with Miss Patricia’s opal broach and a few other choice items, would remain tucked away in the bottom of Tina’s voluminous knitting bag until new appreciative buyers responded to Tina’s postings on Etsy. It had been so easy, and quite fun, frankly, to collect treasures during her late-night forays through the rooms of Hillcrest. It was sometimes so bothersome to pretend she had such a difficult time walking, but it certainly provided the best of alibis and absolutely no one had ever suspected her.

But all good things must come to an end. And, honestly, Tina had thought it had been the end after her last scapegoat Mr. Clinter, the very rude janitor, had been fired. Plus, on the bright side, Tina was just quite sure once the deliciously ironic details of Charles’ (The Granny Killer) demise went public, her hand-knitted items were just going to go absolutely viral.

After a sigh of absolute satisfaction at a job well done, Tina took a long, deep breath so she could produce the most alarming scream.