Henry scratched his head and sat farther back in his
recliner, closing his eyes as if to vision the old days – his time back at the
asylum with Adelaide.
Ryan looked at Claire, and she shrugged.
“Mr. Jacobs?” Ryan said as he leaned slightly forward.
“Yes.” Henry slowly reopened his eyes. “Sometimes I can
still smell the gardens. The roses. The lavender bushes and the peonies.” Smiling,
he continued, “The scent of Adelaide’s perfume within the halls.” Henry stopped
smiling.
“Mr. Jacobs….” Claire pushed.
Frowning, he went on. “The smell of bleach, excrement on the
sheets and bathroom floors – it didn’t seem to matter how much housekeeping
cleaned – the smell of medicine.”
“Anyway. Let’s see now.” Henry fidgeted. “Where were we?” Henry
spoke while showing no expression on his face.
“Have you been taking care of the grounds? We know it can’t
be a ghost.” Claire began again.
“Careful, now.” Henry’s look became serious. “We should
never mock the dead.”
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