Elder Things - Episode Nine
Everything had been going off the rails. A mess. A true mess.
Mirabell gave herself a minute to unwind from the chaos. Flashing ambulance lights carried Herman's corpse off into the night. Somewhere out there, Mickey was knocking at death's door himself.
Daisy and Penny were exhausted. They didn't yet know that the night was far from over. But before that reveal, Mirabell needed some quiet time.
The nursing home had the perfect place: a seldom used room right by the front entryway. It was a small library, stocked with books donated from around town, or inherited from deceased residents. A splintering grandfather clock counted the seconds, as Mirabell plopped into a cushy, high-backed leather chair.
The entire room seemed out of place. There were no signs of activity. It was as if the room had been constructed that very week.
In reality, the library had been there for decades. If it weren't for Mirabell, or the cleaning staff, the books and photos on the wall would be covered in dust.
Mirabell stared up at one of the photographs depicting a ribbon cutting of Carlin Manor.
How clueless the smiling subjects of the photograph were.
Books in a nursing home. Mirabell had assumed the home would be filled with folks eager to dive into a good book, given how much free time they were likely to have. Of course, in practice, most old folks didn't leave their room unless they were heading straight to the cafeteria. And these days, most twenty-first-century old folks were buried in their iPads, like any number of teens around the globe.
"Millenials," in the sense that some of them look about a million years old.
Mirabell knew damn well she didn't fit in. She was getting used to the comments about her agelessness. She dreaded someday becoming as pained as someone like Penny, hunched and frail, practically dragging her knuckles with all those cheap ostentatious rings.
Herman, rest in piece, was even worse. Anyone hearing of his death would assume it was any one of a thousand ailments that finally did him in.
If his death hadn't been so attention grabbing, anyway.
There was a balancing act to be struck.
Suddenly, the westminster chimes droned from the grandfather clock, as if alerting Mirabell to get back on her feet, which she diligently did.
The others needed their cheerful, able-bodied leader.
Mirabell took a deep breath, digging her nails into her palms as she made a small to-do list:
Penny, then Mickey.
Daisy could be kept in the dark.
BONG
1:00am already?
Just a few minutes rest felt like a rough night of sleep. It would have to be enough. Mirabell shook off the rust and turned away from the poorly utilized library, stealing one last glance at the ribbon cutting photo, dated 1934.
The groundskeeper was in the deep background, staring out, dispassionately. Mirabell paused for a moment, to stare into his timeless eyes.
What was he thinking?
She didn't bother to look at the maid standing at the groundskeeper's side. It was obvious what she was thinking.
Maybe if any of the geezers in the nursing home bothered to set foot into the library, they'd notice Mirabell smiling in a photograph from nearly a hundred years ago.
They were clueless.
Mirabell smirked to herself and left the library behind to take care of her friends.
She had barely even aged a day.