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The Doctor wears a long brown coat and leans over the elderly woman, resting in her bed.
He shakes his head as he straightens up, fixing the lace sleeves of his cream-coloured slashed doublet. “Not long now, I fear ….” he says in a clipped, English accent, facing the assembled crowd solemnly. “I believe-”
Then, a woman in a sports coat walks right through him and takes the woman’s hand, gently pressing the aged, fragile wrist.
“Well, she’s sleeping now, so that’s something,” she says, nodding down at the woman.
The Doctor takes an abashed step back, gagging slightly, “Good Lord, I didn’t see her there,” he coughs, pressing himself back, stepping through the nightstand to avoid the Sports Coat as she leaves the woman’s bedside.
A woman in a turban and no shoes, lounging on a chair with a martini glass, lifts both legs into the air to avoid the woman as she walks to the door.
“Rest is the best thing for her,” Sports Coat says to the young man in a white uniform shirt and pants who hovers at the door.
“Thanks, Doctor. She was refusing water since yesterday ….” the man replies, his voice and eyes quiet.
Also in the room was a woman wearing truly filthy smock, and a big man in incredibly large jeans. The be-denim-ed man waits avidly for the door to close.
“I bet she dies tonight!” he declares to the other eagerly.
The woman in the smock sighs lightly, “Emmett, don’t be morbid,” she advises lightly.
Emmett presses a hand to his chest. “Are you saying you didn’t place bets on me, Esme?” he asks in an injured tone. Esme chuckles, but doesn’t reply.
The woman in the turban gives a light laugh. “I bet she gets sucked off,” she declares. The big jeans man sticks out a hand to her and they shake solemnly.
The Doctor in his coat walks through the door and carefully slides past the pair still speaking softly about their patient’s impending demise. His heeled shoes don’t clip against the floor as he walked down the hall.
A beautiful young man sits at the circular window in the attic, so pale he was almost translucent. Well, he was translucent, but that was due to being dead as opposed to his pallor. He watches the front lawn, where two automobiles were parked. One was still running, with a dog scurrying around the backseat.
“Edward?” The Doctor calls, and the boy nods absently to him. The man smiles gently as he strolls over. “Teddy, there you are. What are you doing?”
“I’m keeping an eye on the Doctor’s terrier. She’s left it.”
The attic dust calmly sails through the pair, one sitting on the floor, one standing beside him.
“Did you want to say goodbye?” The Doctor, whose name is Carlisle, asks, his soft voice matching the quiet of the night.
Edward sighs, pulling away from the window, and staring at his hands. “… She’s not going to make it, is she?” Edward had had a severe fondness for the old Operetta star, who had seen the piano tuned and repaired for the first time in almost twenty years.
Carlisle sighs. He looks out the window, at the little dog darting around the interior of the vehicle. “She’s had a good life here, my dear boy,” the man smiles down at him. “Haven’t we enjoyed watching her grow?”
“… They always grow, then they leave ….” The boy crosses his arms moodily. “everyone always gets to leave ….”
Carlisle reached over and rested a hand on top of Edward’s head, lightly ruffling the eared-cap he has on. They say nothing as they both watch the dog begin to hunch and squat in a very particular manner.
A man in a ratty blue pants and jacket, wearing a grey kepi, marches past the cars, stopping at the dog and peering through the window.
“Now, listen here! Be a lady!” the man barks, his voice youthfully breaking on the last word. The dog begins to bark at him in excitement.
Carlisle waves a hand through the attic window. “Jasper, leave it,” he calls out, and the man looks up at them, though he seems to begrudgingly move on, marching neatly across the lawn and around the other side of the house.
“Up and up she goes, boys!” a voice calls, prompting the boy and the doctor to hop through the floor and back into the bedroom.
From the bed, a beam of light bursts from the woman, shining straight up, as the glowing outline of her stands from the bed.
“Thank you for tuning the piano!” Edward calls out to her.
The be-turbaned woman hops out of the chair and gives a theatrical bow. “Would you like to stay?” she asks the woman grandly.
The woman, for her part, arranges her nightgown, wrapping it tighter around herself, before, with a whoosh and another blast of light, her shining shadow evaporates.
“Ah – sucked off,” Esme sighs.
The ghosts stare at the form on the bed, still now and forever.
The turbaned woman lets out a peel of giggles, declaring ‘I win!’ gleefully, as Emmett whips the newsboy cap off his head and crosses his arms in a huff.