Darkhouse
“An elderly gardener in a light plaid shirt reached back and pulled the cotton free from his sweaty back. Duke Rawlins stood at a huge sign that told him in fancy green writing that he was outside Pleasance Retirement Home.
In ripped jeans, a black T-shirt and black biker boots, Duke walked the long drive and wiped an arm across his forehead when he reached the cool entrance hall. A smiling nurse pointed him towards the elevator. He got out on the third floor and found the sixth door on the left.... It was open. He knocked softly.
‘Mrs Genzel? It’s Duke. Duke Rawlins. From fifth grade?’ ‘Still?’ said Mrs Genzel, turning her head briefly from the window. ‘I’d have hoped you moved on.’ Duke smiled.
The room had lilac walls and smelled of perfume and roses. There was no medical equipment, no oxygen tanks, no drips, pills or syrups, no walkers or canes. The double bed at the centre was covered with bright quilted cushions. A string of purple flower-shaped lights were looped through the white iron frame.MoreLess
In ripped jeans, a black T-shirt and black biker boots, Duke walked the long drive and wiped an arm across his forehead when he reached the cool entrance hall. A smiling nurse pointed him towards the elevator. He got out on the third floor and found the sixth door on the left.... It was open. He knocked softly.
‘Mrs Genzel? It’s Duke. Duke Rawlins. From fifth grade?’ ‘Still?’ said Mrs Genzel, turning her head briefly from the window. ‘I’d have hoped you moved on.’ Duke smiled.
The room had lilac walls and smelled of perfume and roses. There was no medical equipment, no oxygen tanks, no drips, pills or syrups, no walkers or canes. The double bed at the centre was covered with bright quilted cushions. A string of purple flower-shaped lights were looped through the white iron frame.MoreLess
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