Morning Is Dead (6 page)

A Hospital at Night

Part Seven

April took only one cigarette from Mirabel’s purse. One cigarette, a lighter, and her cardigan that was slung over the back of a chair. If she took more than one cigarette, she knew she would have stood outside until they were all gone. She didn’t want to go back into Alvin’s room.

She draped the sweater over her shoulders. It smelled clean, like a dryer sheet. It made her realize how dirty she felt. She smelled like smoke. Her lungs still burned but she wanted the cigarette anyway. She wanted to draw even more smoke into her lungs. She wanted to show it she had power over it. Smoke was something wild and uncontrollable. Smoking was one way to harness it.

As she walked toward the elevator, the rest of the hospital seemed too bright. At this hour, it was calm. Like most nights. Dayton was a city of much minutiae and false alarms. The weekends were usually more eventful. The elevator doors opened with only a second’s hesitation and she stepped into it, thankful to be alone.

On the way down, she thought about the time Brett had beaten Alvin up. He hadn’t really beaten him up. In truth, April had never even asked him about it. She didn’t want to know. She loved Alvin but he had embarrassed her. She had just wanted him to go away. She had heard him try to get in one night, pounding on the door. Brett said he would go downstairs and see who it was, what they wanted, even though he and April both knew who it was. She had stayed in bed, the phone within arm’s reach, ready to call the police if anything got of control. Brett was back upstairs within two minutes.

“Did you take care of it?” April had asked.

“It was nothing,” Brett had said.

And they had left it at that.

The elevator stopped and April strolled out through the lobby. The receptionist on duty, a large black woman whose name April couldn’t remember, nodded at her. April nodded back. With her good arm, she pulled the cardigan tighter around her and stepped out into the chilly night. She walked fifty feet from the front door, to the smoking area, and sat down on the wooden slatted bench. She crossed her legs and drew into herself as much as she could, making herself as small as possible or trying to capture the warmth. She lit the cigarette and looked up at the sky. It looked weird. It was cloudy but it must have been close to a full moon because the clouds glowed an eerie gray white. It almost didn’t seem as late as it was. The city was quieter now but there was still the sound of trains and the unclosing factories.

April continued to smoke and stare out at the night. It reached in and around her, stroking her with cold fingers. She felt more alone than she ever had. Maybe that was what drew Alvin into the night. She didn’t know if it was something mental, like some switch inside of him that had simply flipped, or if the drugs had made him that way. She wondered what had started him on drugs anyway. Maybe it was something he had done before he met her and then stopped because she was something new only to start up again when he got bored. It was shortly after his friend, John Strange, had moved back into the area. Maybe that was what they did, although Alvin never really mentioned hanging around with him. John Strange and Brian Tippin. April hadn’t thought about those names in a long time. Brian Tippin had always lived in the area but he and Alvin had never really hung out much because Brian was married and had a couple of kids. But then he had gotten a divorce and started calling a little more often. He was probably lonely. April thought she knew how he felt.

There was a secret world going on around her, April thought. That was a funny thought to have. But it was true. There were people just like Alvin, wandering around downtown, driving through the suburbs, planning ludicrous things. Lost people. Directionless people. Whores working the streets for drug money or strippers in some smelly club working for drug money or to put food on the table for their kids or to put themselves through college. Junkies and alcoholics hanging around outside bars, begging for just enough money to feed their addiction. And then there were the people working in the factories, gray faced and glassy eyed, standing at some machine that dictated their pace. Dictated eight or ten or sometimes twelve or fourteen hours of their day. And some of those people were crazier than the people wandering the streets. And some of the people wandering the streets weren’t crazy at all. They just didn’t want any part of normal life. They would rather have this life of pain and despair because that meant they were doing something, it sparked some sense of adventure in them.

April put her cigarette out in the sand of the stone ashtray beside the bench and thought about standing up and drifting off into the night. She could just disappear. She wouldn’t have to find out what happened to Alvin. She wouldn’t have to mourn him if he died and she wouldn’t have to care for him if he lived.

She felt cold, inside and out, and she hated to think she would resent taking care of him. But then she thought about Brett and how he was gone and what that had taken from her and she thought about how perfect, for a while, everything had been between she and Alvin, and how that was gone too.

The early October air sliced against her ear. It wanted her. The night wanted her. In a way, she longed for it too.

Seven

Walking along beside the archer, Alvin looked back over his shoulder. “Thanks for your help and everything, but I really need to get back to my house. Someone is in there with my wife. And they’re putting wires up everywhere. All over the house. Covering it in wires. The cops told me that meant they were going to blow it up.”

“Relax, friend. There’s no point in going back now.”

The archer continued walking down the dark alleyway. Alvin kept up with him. Maybe he could tell him something that made sense.

“Why not? Why is there no point in going back?”

“Have you been to the station? Have you been processed?”

“Yeah, but I don’t see what that has to do with anything.”

“Unfortunately, that has everything to do with everything.”

“Why? Please say you can tell me why. No one’s been able to tell me anything.”

“Because you’re part of the night now. You’re a night person.”

“But what does that mean?”

“It’s pretty simple really. There’s the day and there’s the night.”

“But there’s always been day and night. When I was, I guess, part of the day, it still became night. Don’t tell me there’s someplace where it’s day all the time?”

“No, there isn’t. You’re right. When you were part of the day, it did become night. But that was natural night. That was the natural world. This is not the natural world. That’s the best way to think of it—as two separate worlds.”

“Two separate worlds.”

The archer’s breath was steady. The gravel of the alley crunched beneath their feet. Alvin could feel himself getting further away from the house, further from April, further from any type of logic at all.

“Yes, two separate worlds.”

“But how is that possible?”

“It’s kind of a mystery, I guess. But it happens. One minute, you’re part of that world and the next minute you’re part of this world.”

“So am I dead?”

“Not technically.”

Alvin grabbed the sides of his head in frustration. His hair was crusted with dried blood. He was suddenly aware of the smell of the blood, sick and meaty.

“So, what? What am I?”

“I take it you worked for the Point?”

“Yeah, but so what? Everybody works for the Point or something that serves the Point in some way or the other.”

“Not everyone.”

“You never worked for the Point? What did you do before you became a night person?”

“Of course I worked for the Point. But I’ve always been a night person. The Point steals something from you. It makes you something you weren’t before.”

“Are you talking about a soul?”

“No. Not necessarily. Just some essential part of what it feels like to be alive. What makes being alive something special. Think about before you started working at the Point: what made life good then? What did you enjoy doing?”

“Lots of things: falling in love with April, listening to music, watching movies. I liked doing things outside. Walking around downtown and drinking coffee on a spring day...”

“And once you started working for the Point?”

“Well, things were pretty good. We both had good jobs. We bought a house in this neighborhood... it’s not too bad.” Alvin thought as he walked beside the archer. Surely they had done more things. Surely there was something he could remember. “And then...”

“And then?”

“I don’t know.”

“And then you started working more so you could keep up with those house payments and you started seeing less and less of your wife and maybe you thought about having kids but you knew you would both have to work even harder to support the kid so what was the point in bringing a kid into the world if you couldn’t even enjoy it? And after you got home from work you were so exhausted and lifeless that you just sat around watching television and doing the essential things like eating and shitting and showering that you didn’t really have time for anything else. And even on the weekends you were so full of dread and loathing about going back to work on Monday that you couldn’t possibly enjoy them fully. Maybe you started going out by yourself. Maybe you started hanging around with people you shouldn’t have been hanging around with, doing some things you weren’t supposed to be doing. But, goddammit, you were just trying to have a little
fun
. You were just trying to relax and unwind.”

Alvin hung his head. It pained him to admit these things. “Yeah, actually, that sounds about right.”

“It’s not your fault,” the archer said. “It happens to just about everyone.”

“But what kind of punishment is
this
? Being banished into some world where the sun never shines. Where I’ll never see my wife again.
Am
I being punished for something?”

“I couldn’t possibly answer that. Besides, you’ll probably see your wife eventually. Almost everyone gets worn down at some time or the other. The city’s designed that way.”

They reached an intersection with another alley. A short, rumpled-looking man stared at a garage. Alvin didn’t even notice him until they were right up on him. A dead, mangled, and emaciated dog lay at his feet. The man had gore around his mouth and down the front of his shirt. Alvin was pretty sure he had been eating the dog.

“Maria!” the man shouted at the garage.

The archer stopped and Alvin stopped along with him.

“MARIA!!!” the man shouted again. Then, noticing them, the man whipped his head around, looked at Alvin, and said, “You seen Maria? I bet you have, ain’t ya, Mr. Bloodyface?” He drew closer to Alvin until he could smell some kind of boozy, decaying reek coming from him and the scent of the dead dog was now obvious.

“No.” Alvin held out his hand to ward the man off. “I don’t even know who Maria is.”

“Don’t lie to me. I’ll reach down your fuckin’ throat and pull Maria out. Yeah, I’ll punch a hole in that blood mask. You think it’s Halloween? You think it’s trick-or-treat yet? No. It ain’t. You don’t even got a fuckin’ bag. No sack for treats, Mr. Bloodyface.”

The archer had tugged an arrow from his quiver and Alvin thought he was going to stab the man but, instead, he swatted him on the upper arm with the arrow. “You need to calm down, Clarence. Go back inside and be quiet. Maria will be around shortly.”

Clarence looked at the archer. He pointed to the house on the other side of the garage and whispered, “There are people in there. Sleeping people.”

Alvin’s heart thumped. Yes, this man knew about all the sleepers too.

“You’re just imagining them, Clarence. There’s no one in there. You live alone, remember?”

“Maybe Maria’ll be in there?” he asked hopefully.

“You’ll have to go in and check, Clarence.”

“Okay.” Now he sounded kind of excited as he turned and walked toward the house.

The archer and Alvin continued down the alley.

“Where are we going?” Alvin asked.

“My place.”

After the exchange with the Maria-shouter, Alvin was under the assumption the night people shared houses with the sleeping daytime people. If he was able to get back into his house, he wondered if he would find April asleep. No, that was ridiculous. He’d just seen her a couple of days ago. The same night that strange man had appeared. And he had just fought with that strange man only moments ago. So they weren’t asleep. Unless April was dead or in trouble. Which Alvin still felt was a distinct possibility.

Alvin stopped. “I really need to go back to my house.”

“I told you. It’s useless.”

“I have to try.”

“You can spend the rest of your life trying. It won’t do any good. Look, I might be able to use your help. You help me and I’ll help you. Okay?”

“Help you with what?”

“I’ll tell you. But I have something for you to see first.”

“Are there any sleepers at your place?”

“No. It’s just me. Why?”

“I’m just curious about them.”

“Why?”

“I’m not sure. Have you ever tried waking one of them up?”

“Nope. I figure they’re asleep for a reason. Here we go.” The archer stopped at a long, low structure.

“This is your house?”

“This is part of it. Most of the house is underground. This is my warehouse. I call it the Shucking Room.”

“The Shucking Room?” Alvin imagined corn.

“You’ll see.”

The archer pulled a set of keys from his pocket and unlocked the barn-style door, sliding it back. He stepped into the structure and flipped a switch. Harsh fluorescent lights blared down from the ceiling. The light stinging his eyes, Alvin tried to make out what it was he was looking at.

“Are those...”

“Rades. Yeah.”

There had to be ten of them. They weren’t moving. They were lined up in two rows, dangling from large hooks. There was another row of empty hooks hanging from the ceiling, coated in dull green.

“What do you do with them?”

“You’ll see.”

“Do you mind if I wash up?”

“Go ahead.”

The archer motioned to an industrial sink in the back corner.

The archer slid the door closed and snapped a padlock shut around a short chain. The floor of the Shucking Room was smooth concrete. The air held an ozone tang like before a storm.

Alvin walked back to the sink. He turned the faucet on warm and splashed it over his face, trying to clean out his cheek and forehead wounds as best as possible. Once the water dripping from his face was clear, he switched it to cold and splashed some of that on his face to try and revive him. He pulled his t-shirt up and wiped his face with it. He began walking back toward the archer.

The archer grabbed something like a metal cane, wrapped it around the top of one of the hooks, and pulled it toward a stainless steel slab. He donned a pair of thick rubber gloves that came up to his elbows and, grabbing the rade beneath the arms, lifted it off the hook. It made a sick meaty sound. He sat it on the slab. Then he took several steps, grabbed a large metal drum on wheels, and dragged it beside the table.

“Can you bring that over here?” he nodded toward a metal canister, about the size of a soda can. Alvin grabbed it and brought it over.

He sat the can-thing down beside the larger barrel. Then he remembered the piece of paper Ben had given him. He reached into his pocket and pulled it out. It was an address. “Hm.”

“What’s that?”

“Do you know where this might be?” Alvin handed the paper to the archer.

“It’s not very far away.”

“I’ve never even heard of the street name.”

“Help me out here and I’ll take you there. Who gave this to you?”

“Some guy I met at the station.”

“What was the guy’s name?”

Alvin chuckled. “Benjamin Teats.”