Post by mdf2711 on May 30, 2014 4:17:41 GMT
My best friend, Sophie, has just recently (yesterday) decided that she is finally ready to share this story she's been working on for a really long time with the whole world to try and get feedback so she created a Tumblr account and is posting her stories there, among other things. But she's worried that since her works are original and not fanfiction pieces, no one will be interested in reading them. I told her that's absolutely untrue and to prove it, I'm going to generate interest in her stories for her by showing it to all of you for feedback and commentary. She's requested nothing to be sugarcoated, she wants real feedback and constructive criticism, though I think it's utterly fantastic.
First though, let's have some flavour text to whet the appetite:
First though, let's have some flavour text to whet the appetite:
Welcome to Death. First thing you should know: Everyone is dead. Chaos reigns as rules go out the door. Why fear death when you're already dead? Death is the place after Life, where people go when blood no longer runs through their bodies. Jane wakes up to find herself here, not knowing anything about herself except what strange memories that don't feel like her own tell her. She is sent to the Unit, a place for adjustment, and learns of the mysterious Unknown. Not knowing what to do with the rest of forever, Jane goes to the Center, where she meets new people that might be able to help her figure out who she is. And there's her strange ability to Count and Jump. With these skills, she just might meet the Unknown, and might begin to make sense of Death. How will she figure out how to survive this world? Because despite being dead, she finds out you can always die again. Through the help of new friends and a couple gifts she never knew she had, Jane will figure out new ways of living that were never possible in Life.
Now it's time for the first chapter:
Waking up
First breath. The air seemed stale, not quite enough to fill her lungs. There was no texture to it, no need to keep sucking in more and more; no reason to breathe. This is no true air, she thought, but then wondered how she could possibly know this when she had never tasted air before. Even the word itself seemed foreign to her. Yet she still knew it. This seemed to be the only thing she knew, for she did not even know how to open her eyes. They were so heavy, and so was her body. If she was thinking, she would consider where she was, and how she got there. As it was, all she could do was let her limbs go as she collapsed on the hard ground.
There were people noises all around her just then, although she couldn’t say what made them people noises, exactly. Just a few grunts of surprise, the thud of flesh on the ground, and cold hands grasping her arms, trying too late to keep her on her feet. All around her was a sudden hurricane of sound, voices calling out for help.
“Excuse me.” The voice was a high, reedy woman’s voice. “Are you alright, dear? I’m sure you’re feeling very confused right now. It’s no matter. We’ll get the Watch, and they can help you.” A pat on her shoulder, and then she was left there. Other voices chimed in around her.
“Did you see-?”
“Not even here for a kig-”
“So strange.”
A loud voice broke into the cacophony, one clear thought in an ocean of uncertainty and curiosity. “Well I say we leave her. Nothing good comes from a girl who doesn’t take any time to adjust. I don’t like it.”
“Nobody said you have to stay, Rob,” another man said. He had a girlish voice, the kind of voice that she associated with someone who would never have stood up to another had he not been surrounded by witnesses. Murmurs of agreement followed his statement, and footsteps told her Rob had taken his leave. “I’m glad he’s gone.” More murmurs of concurrence.
“She’s right here.” The woman with the reedy voice was back. “Not even here for a quant and she was already on the ground flopping like a fish.”
“No, Kathy. Not even a kig. It was almost like she was falling before she got here.” The new voice sounded like another woman, but this one with a deeper, buttery voice. “We all saw it, Mr. Watchman. I’ve never seen anything like it.” She wished she could open her eyes so she could keep track of who was talking.
Another moment of shuffling steps, almost like someone was rushing to get out of the way, and there was a shadow above her. Only by the darkness caused by the shadow could she tell that anything was different. There was still no smell, and all she could feel was the rough texture of where she lay. Probably concrete or some other type of stone. She didn’t know where she knew this from. It was if her body recognized it without alerting her mind.
“You will come with me,” a metallic voice grated above her. No breath exhaled as it spoke. “You will come with me,” the voice repeated as if she were deaf. She wished she could show she understood- although she wasn’t quite sure how she could make out a meaning from the sounds the being was making-but she couldn’t even flutter an eyelid, much less nod her head. Was she doomed to lay like this for the rest of existence?
Rough hands pulled her up. “Here you go, miss. Sorry,” it apologized when her elbow scraped the ground. “I know just how you feel. The Arrival is always the worst part, so don’t you worry. You’ve gotten past the bad part.” It sounded like an old man’s voice, and something in her trusted him. Of course, she had no way of stopping him as he dragged her the rest of the way on her feet, since she still couldn’t move her body on her own. He was very strong for one who sounded like her grandfather. What’s a grandfather? This was all very confusing.
Someone cleared their throat. “Pardon me, Watchman, but shouldn’t she go to the doctor’s first? To get evaluated and all that? She doesn’t look very good. I really suggest going to the doctor’s…” The woman, Kathy, faltered a bit in her monologue. “Yes, well, I’m sure you know best.” New footsteps led away from the scene she was creating.
“That Kathy never knew when to shut her mouth,” one man said.
“Yeah, well it’s not like we weren’t all thinking that,” the deeper voiced women muttered under her breath. “I’m sorry,” she said. “You, girl, I’m sorry. I don’t know what you did, but it was just your luck to die and be forced into this situation.”
Was she talking to her? What was that part about death? Her head was spinning, although that could have just been from all the blood rushing out of it to the rest of her body. Her limbs felt numb, and her fingers pounded as circulation returned.
“Let’s go, Barry. And you, Kyle. You’re just a little kid. You shouldn’t be here. All of you, get the hell out of the way. This is none of our business.”
The sound of chastised people was carried away as the crowd around her thinned out. But she still felt the pressure of the old man gripping her, making sure she didn’t fall. And there was still the presence of the shadowy figure who now stood before her. If only she could open her eyes.
“Well,” croaked the old man. “It sure was nice to meet you. I hope everything goes well.” The hand on her arm disappeared, and suddenly she was alone with this sinister being.
“Sleep well,” the metal voice whispered, followed by a sharp pain in the flesh of her elbow. And then her body was even more numb than it had been only moments before, and the black that had been bordering the edges of her mind closed over her and stifled the rest of her thoughts.
A steady stream of images played out behind her eyes, dancing out of reach. A foggy image of a curly-haired woman with blurry green eyes laughs at her as she jumps through tall grass on two feet, bending her knees just so to get the most trajectory possible. Then there are hands behind her lifting her up and she is flying, laughing as the breeze plays over her face. It smells like the end of summer, and the promise of colored leaves falling. And then there is a blonde boy with a nervous expression on his too-thin face leaning close, and she can almost taste the mint wafting from his ever-present gum. She is leaning back on metal lockers, looking at her with bored, pale blue eyes, and her lock is digging in uncomfortably, but she manages to keep a sickly grin on her face. She thinks his sharp nose will poke her in the eye, and she doesn’t know what she would do if it did. Probably laugh. He wouldn’t like that. And now a small child with the woman’s hair is running through a pile of leaves, scattering them in the wind, their colors fluttering around her like a kaleidoscope. A cool smell reaches her nostrils, to be replaced by the scent of dead plants as she rolls in the crinkling dead tree appendages. A man with a harsh face looks at her with anger, and she feels fear blossom in her chest, reaching out its cool fingers and betraying her body into immobility. A woman’s voice screams as the man lifts a hand and it comes streaking toward her face.
All the images were familiar to her; she knew them. But at the same time, she was seeing them through new eyes. Like they had happened to someone else. A montage of the greatest hits of someone else’s life, yet played out as though it was her own.
She didn’t know how long she watched this personal film, but she finally awoke in a brightly lit room. Light filtered through her eyelids, casting a red glow. Her first thought: Four vigs, nineteen quants, sixteen kigs. Not knowing what that meant, she quickly forgot it and tried to open her eyes. There was a crust covering her eyelids, stopping her from seeing her surrounding. Had the crust been there earlier? She couldn’t remember. How long had she been out?
“She’s awake,” a thin voice next to her said by her side. Footsteps approached quickly, clicking on tiled flooring. The surface beneath her was cool and smooth, nothing like the last place she had found herself. It felt like it could have been metal. “How long has she been out,” the voice asks again, as if it had heard her thought from earlier. The voice had a low-pitched tone, but it obviously belonged to a woman.
“At least a clat.” The answering voice was much deeper, a buttery baritone. “Have we somehow gotten a name yet, or shall we give her a deer?” This didn’t make much sense. She had to open her eye’s, but when she tried they remained glued together.
Someone turned on a faucet to her right, and soon after she felt soft thumbs pressing the liquid into her eyes, flushing away the gunk. Finally, she opened her eyes to the barest squint, not wanting to blind herself. All she saw of the ceiling was bare whiteness, and neither of the owners of the voices could be seen from where she lay.
“Turn the light off,” the deep voice commanded. The room got dark immediately. “There, now at least she won’t be so frightened. And can see better. The two tend to go together.” He sounded like he was smiling a little.
“Name?” The woman spoke without interest, as if she’d asked the question millions of times before. If only she knew her name. She opened her eyes the rest of the way and glanced around her fully. The deep-voiced man was out of her peripheral vision, but she could hear the clink of medical instruments and the rush of water as he cleaned them. To her left, seated close to her, was the woman with the thin voice. She wore square-framed glasses and had a round head, with a permanent grimace marking her face. It was a lifestyle smile. She had a pug nose and a mole on her chin. Her greying, frizzy hair tried to keep itself in a bun. “Name,” she asked again with a little less patience than the first time, if that were possible.
“Great, we got another stupid one.” A clipboard rests on her hammy knees. It wasn’t until then that she noticed how heavy-set the woman was. “Put her down for Jane, Doc. We aren’t gonna get anything else from her.”
“I don’t know about that, Helda. You know how bad you were when you Arrived. She could just be adjusting. Seems like she’s doing better already than anyone else I’ve heard of.”
“What do you mean?” Despite the lack of caring in the woman’s voice, she almost sounded intrigued.
“I heard it from Jesse-you know, Roger’s kid-that she collapsed almost the exact time she Arrived. So maybe you should cut the girl some slack. Open,” the last part was directed at her. She opened her mouth automatically, and a goop found its way in, choking her with its thickness.
Helda scoffed. “She doesn’t need slack from me with a face like that. Probably another air-for-brains model who died from an eating disorder. What a world.” The woman grunted as she rose to her feet. “And I wouldn’t exactly trust the word of a boy. They all like to make the world more romantic and interesting than it is.” She walked out of the field of vision, presumably toward ‘Doc.’
“What we do with them all,” Doc sighed after a moment. A few scratches on the clipboard upon his diagnosis. “It’s the Unit for her. And even if Jess is just a boy, he’s got the same eyes as the rest of us. Anyone can notice someone who doesn’t stumble around for a little bit before their Realization.”
“Still, wasn’t Jesse the one who shredded the Unit files once on a dare when his father wasn’t paying attention?” There was some fondness in Helda’s hateful tone.
Doc chuckled. “Yes, well, boys will be boys. In my day shredding papers was the least of it. Imagine Jesse with my old man’s gun.”
“He can’t be a boy forever,” Helda groused.
“Yes he can.” The new voice sounded strange, strangled. Unused. A blanket fell over the room, covering up the remains of the conversation as the two people stood shocked as they watched the girl on the table raise herself up. It took her a moment to realize the voice belonged to her. Is that what I sound like, then? She looked at the table beneath her. It is metal, she noted.
Looking up finally at the two strangers, she saw the woman with the mean face and the buxom body standing next to a brown-haired, tall man with a hooked nose and large, watery greyish eyes. They were both staring at her with something like fear in their expressions.
What is fear, she wondered. It was hard to remember, but the concept seemed like it should be familiar to her. Like it had been before, but it, too, had been washed away when she washed up on the concrete earlier.
“Did you hear…?” A woman’s thin voice spoke from far away, outside of her brain. She’d never seen a room like this before, although it, too, felt natural. With her eyes open for the first time, she was having many new/not new experiences. Perhaps she’d been somewhere like this before, with its white walls and posters of organs. What are organs? A word bubbled to the surface of her brain, rippling from her lips like water poured from a glass.
“Doctor.”
“Yes, I heard,” said the man’s voice, giving no recognition that he had heard her speak. He is all business now, his shimmery eyes cold as stone. “How can you think already?” This question seemed clearer, more direct. He wasn’t talking from the side of his mouth.
She felt cold. It was something she could and couldn’t remember feeling, like the memory of something written that had been read years later. One could barely remember the sensation of writing it, but reading it still felt nostalgic. Cold seeped from the shiny surface on the table she was atop, so she swung her legs over the edge. They dangled like dead weights, and she revelled in the feeling of their natural movement back and forth. She felt strange. The movement of limbs was new.
“You. Jane Doe Twelve. How do you feel?” Who were they talking to? With all the new feelings in her, she was not concentrating enough to distinguish between the voices. Who had spoken? Whoever it had been, Doc spoke next. “Hello? Can you hear me?” He waved his hand up to alert her that he was communication with her.
“Yes,” she answered. Doc and Helda blinked in surprise. She listened to the calm, cool sound that flowed from deep in her throat. She had shaken the cobwebs from her voice. There was a huskiness, but also a lilt to the tone, like an old jazz singer, although she didn’t think she had ever sung before. Singing was a foreign concept to her, and she did not know where the word came from.
“Do you remember your name now?” It was still Doc talking. He kept speaking over her thoughts just when she seemed to be getting somewhere. But she liked it when Doc spoke better than when Helda did. Helda had not been quite so nice. Even if Doc was still staring at her with a strange look in those cold, gray eyes, she felt he was the more caring of the two. Perhaps it was something in his soft, circular face. His tanned skin looked well-worn from smiles, and his lips were permanently upturned at the corners.
He was looking at her, expecting an answer. “Your name.” Doc tried to regain her attention. “Do you remember your name?”
“What is a name?” She knew that somewhere inside her head, in the same place as the other facts floating around, lay the answer to her question, but she was too confused to go sorting through it. She did not have room at the moment to weave through the puzzle of her mind.
“Well, a name is what someone calls you. Does someone call you something?” She stared at him blankly. “My name is Howard, and this is Helda.” He gestured to her, and her grim face turned an even darker shade of angry and annoyed. “Those are our name.” He spoke slowly and carefully, like he didn’t think she could understand him. And he had dropped the cold look in his eyes to adopt a more open expression, which she could insinuate meant he didn’t want to scare her. “What is yours?”
She shrugged. “I don’t have a name.”
Helda and Doc-Howard-exchanged looks. She couldn’t read what thought passed between them, but she thought it was something like disbelief. Doc cleared his throat. “Everyone has a name. We’ll just wait until you remember yours.”
“Until then, you’re Jane Doe Twelve, got that?” Helda finally spoke up again as she glanced away. “I’m not wasting my time on a forgetful shit like you. Got too many other things to worry about. I’m thinking a good ten jots in the Unit, eh Doc?” Helda looked to the kinder person next to her.
He nodded. “Yes, I think she could use it. Here, Jane, take these. For the pain.” He handed her two blue pills, and filled a cup with water from the tap. When he handed it to her he didn’t look her in the eyes. She noticed a slight sheen on his forehead. Sweat, she thought.
The cup was made of thin paper, and she was afraid the water would drip through the fragile casing. Light bounced off the surface, casting strange shadows over the liquid. “What am I supposed to do with these?” She gestured at her full right hand and her somewhat full left hand, still holding the two blue pills. Even the pills seemed familiar, although they were a different color than what the images in her head told her. Those pills were larger, but a pill is a pill. However, the images could not tell her where exactly such things were supposed to go.
Howard the Doctor looked at her; Helda snorted from the counter, where she was resting her clipboard. Most likely she had tired of holding it. Sighing through his teeth-making it look more like a snake hissing-Howard ran his hand through his thick, dark hair. He was relatively young for someone who seemed so tired, and had the hard eyes of the wary. But there was still some shred of playfulness in them, in the place where his few jokes came from. Once he recovered from his momentary pause, he met her eyes. “Don’t make this harder, okay? Just take the pills.” He almost looked sorry.
She shook her head. “That’s not what I meant. I mean, what does ‘take the pills’ mean?” Honest confusion shone from her eyes, begging for his understanding. Maybe if she could figure out what this small thing meant, everything else would click back into place. It was a pointless and probably improbable hope, but she hoped it nonetheless.
The doctor had a look like disbelief, but Helda didn’t. “Here,” she said, crossing to where she sat. She grabbed the pills from her palm and yanked her jaw open. “They go here,” snapped her jaw shut. “Now drink.” She indicated to the water. One sip and the pills made their way down her throat. “Now would you just shut up so my headache will leave. I gotta go, doc. I just can’t do it with this one.”
“Do what,” she asked. Helda threw up her hands in defeat and left the room, taking her clipboard with her. She turned back to Howard the Doctor, who had a grudging smile forcing up the side of his lips. The warmth still remained when he looked back at her after watching Helda walk through the door.
“You sure know how to please a woman, don’t you,” he chuckled. “Don’t worry. As nice as that one is, she isn’t very nice. However, she did take my clipboard, which I do not appreciate.”
She watched as he sighed once again, this time without teeth. “You keep changing,” she noted. The doctor raised one eyebrow.
“Can you please elaborate?”
“You switch back and forth between being serious and being goofy? Which are you? Which one should I take seriously? The one who makes fun of a nurse he knows, or the one who looks at me like some kind of monster?” It wasn’t until she described how he looked at her that she understood what he thought of her. Howard had the fish of a mouth, flopping open and closed quickly as though out of air. It was comical. “That is what you think of me, isn’t it?”
Finally, the fish mouth closed for the last time. He shook his head like he could shake off the thoughts it had been holding. “No,” he protested, “I don’t. You aren’t a monster, Jane. You’re just…different than most of the patients I’ve had. I’m sorry if I’ve upset you, but I guess you’re much more perceptive than we originally believed. You can’t fault a guy for being ignorant. It’s what we humans do best, after all.” As he spoke, he dropped the remains of the coldness, leaving only a middle-aged man with all his hair and a wash-out smile on his tan face.
Jane, she thought. Is that me? Jane must be for her what Howard was for Howard the Doctor, and Helda was for the bitter old lady who had taken her leave. Jane is what I am called. For some reason, this pleased her. Jane was hers, and she was Jane’s.
“So what do I do now,” Jane asked. “What am I? Am I human too?” She didn’t feel like she wasn’t, but she wasn’t sure what ‘being human’ was supposed to feel like.
Howard appraised her thoughtfully, but without depth. He wasn’t looking at her so much as he was staring near her, like he thought having his eyes in her vicinity constituted understanding her. “I would assume so,” he said at last. “I’m not sure what else you could be. You look human, for sure. Although, maybe a tad bit too pretty for your own good.” His cheeks rounded as his lips wrinkled in a smile. “Nope. My diagnosis would be human. Sorry to disappoint.”
Jane decided not to glance at him, lest she come under the same delusion that seeing meant understanding. Instead, she noticed the room around her: the white ceiling; the light blue walls with the wooden cabinets (all closed, hiding secrets she would never know); the metal table she sat on, with its sharp edges that dug in under her thighs where they rested; the tiled floor that was mostly white, with other colors like red and dark blue running through it, creating the look of paint spatters. And she noticed the sinisters machines. Not many. There was one right by the door that looked like a scanner (how she knew this she could not say), and another close to where she was that had fluids in a little bag. Needles rested on and near it, covering surfaces wherever possible. They made her think of the sharp pain she had felt back on the stone surface where she had fallen. When she looked at her elbow, she saw a small cotton swab held on by a thin, clear strip of tape.
Howard noticed her looking. He grimaced before saying, “I really shouldn’t be the one to tell you this, but you’re dead.” He looked at her like he was afraid she would start crying. When she just nodded, he continued: “Occasionally, some Arrivals hold on to the vestiges of life. When they drugged you to calm you down, we found that you could bleed. After that, we had to make sure you were getting nutrients. That’s what that thing’s for.” He pointed at the bag of fluid. “It makes sure you don’t…well, die, I guess. Even though you’re already dead. Weird, huh?” His strange, sad smile was back.
“You were still able to bleed when we took the IV out, so we put the cotton there to stem the flow. It should probably be done. I’m sure if you took it off you’d find almost nothing on it anyway.” He took her arm in one hand and used his thumb to push up an edge on the tape. Then he pulled.
She jerked in surprise, and a little pain. But then it was off, and Howard showed her the swab. He was right. There was almost nothing there. When she looked at her arm, she couldn’t even see a hole where she assumed the IV had been. “See? Nothing to worry about.”
“Why was I still alive a little if I was dead? That doesn’t make sense.” Jane couldn’t understand this. The other things she didn’t remember seemed okay not to remember, like she would just learn later. This was something she didn’t even recognize, and it made her curious and scared. “You are either dead, or you are alive,” she said, still trying to make her point even though she felt she already had.
“Yup,” Howard agreed. “However, some of us just don’t want to let go. The ones like that experience what you did, and for a while they are still almost living. Not quite, but not quite dead yet either. Then, we have to use what anybody in Life would use, and finally we don’t have to use anything because they’re all-dead.” Explaining about death didn’t seem to bother him. “Anyway, you won’t know about Life yet. They’ll teach you that in the Unit.”
“What’s the Unit?” Suddenly she was feeling dizzy. More than before. Howard the Doctor had to catch her as she wobbled on the table.
He grabbed her legs and turned her so she was on her side, setting her legs back on the table. “I’m really sorry about all this,” he told her. He still sounded so guilty. Why did he sound guilty. “I guess now I know why I don’t like being all friendly with my patients, especially the strange cases. It makes these parts that much harder.”
“Makes…what…hard.” Her eyes were closing again against her will. Her breathing slowing down. Her limbs getting heavier. “What,” she barely mumbled through frozen lips.
“Just remember this the next time someone hands you pills, okay? For me? I don’t want this to happen to you again, although technically I’m not supposed to care.” But she was already asleep. Howard the Doctor heaved his shoulders and patted the sleeping girl’s head. He really did feel bad. In a way, this strange girl reminded him of Cassie. “You would have loved Cass, I bet.”
“She was my little girl. She’s probably all grown up now. I wish they would give me her Time. I’ve probably been here long enough.” He started cleaning the area around her, picking up the needles she had knocked down when they brought her in. She hadn’t even seemed conscious. More like she could tell what they were doing to her without even having to be awake. She had knocked all the needles off the counter and was even managing quite a bit of struggling against the Watchmen who had carried her in.
Her long, reddish-brown hair had been tangled in mats, but he had still seen the waves and curls that formed in it. Pale skin and freckled cheeks, arms, and legs all in a bundle. She was wearing only a tank top and a pair of ratted shorts. Wherever she had been when she had died, she had probably been hot.
The doctor frowned as he remembered the rough handling of the girl. “Don’t worry. Now that we’ve got you evaluated and we’re putting you in the Unit, I’m sure they’ll leave you alone.” He wasn’t sure why he was telling this to her, her being asleep and all, but it made him feel better to say it. A little less guilty for having stood by and watched it happen. “Yeah. I’m sure,” he repeated, not really believing it.
A short time later, Howard left the room, leaving the girl sprawled on the examination table. He never worried anymore that they would be picked up. They always were. The hospital hallways was bustling as usual. Howard was never quite sure how it was so busy all the time. With all of them being dead, it didn’t seem like there was much need of a hospital. Someone who was dead couldn’t become more dead. There was the occasional case where somebody died again, but it was always worked out and they always came through with or without medical attention. In this society, there would always be injuries; but that didn’t mean Good Mercy was necessary.
Why are you even thinking this? At least it’s something to do. That was true enough. There never seemed to be an end to his day, and always, always, there was another day to wake up to and try to find something to do with. His kids and his wife had been left behind after the accident, so now he stayed at home on his days off and watched whatever crap was on the TV. One good thing about Death was there were no bills to pay, and there was always TV. But no new shows. No new people except for the trickle of Arrivals.
Martha waved at him from a room with an older patient. The woman was trying to explain something about her son. He could only catch snatches of what she was saying. “But…He just…Waiting.” Howard walked over to the small room. His shift was over, and the lady at the desk, Sharon, was looking at him in confusion. Usually he left as soon as possible, but something about the auburn-haired girl was making him want to help this old woman. This was why he didn’t joke with the patients.
“How’s it goin, Howie?” Martha was a pretty woman in her late thirties. Her bronze skin shone under the fluorescent lighting, managing to look sickly pale. But everyone looked sick in this hospital. Irony for you. “What brings you over here,” she asked with a smile. When she smiled, it was with her whole mouth. All her teeth showed. His wife had smiled like that.
“What’s up with this one,” he gestured at the old lady, who had stopped speaking when she saw him approaching. “Hello, miss. Is there anything I can help you with today?” The woman blinked up at him pitifully.
“My son,” she croaked. “I’m just waiting for my son. He promised he was coming up next weekend. He promised.”
Howard looked at Martha, who just sighed and shook her head. “Yes, I’m sure he will, miss…?” The old woman did not give her name. She had pale fluffy hair, and almost looked like his assistant, Helda. “Well, until he gets here, maybe you should…” Here he turned to Martha.
She jumped right in, “Just sit back and rest a while, Mrs. Carthy. Your son will be along in a bit, but until then you should get some sleep. You want to be awake for Andrew, don’t you?” The old woman looked like a deer caught in headlights. Much like the girl had when she had first woken up. He remembered being surprised at how quickly she had recovered. Enough to speak after only a few kigs of consciousness. And after only a quant or two (he thought) she had been speaking. Clearly.
Martha was helping Mrs. Carthy back to her bed. She looked at him. “Thanks, Howie. You know how these ones get. It’s so sad.” He nodded at her in understanding. Forgetting wasn’t necessarily constrained to the elderly, but there were far fewer young people he met who Forgot. Thankfully, he had never gone through that.
“Well, I supposed I’ll see you tomorrow then?” He was already walking out of the room, mentally berating himself for having entered in the first place. He heard Martha say something about having the day off. “Right. Well, I guess I’ll see you when I see you,” he called over his shoulder. She shouted something back, but he didn’t hear.
This time as he passed the front desk, he didn’t pause. He walked in a straight line until he got to the elevators. He pressed the L and waited for the elevator to ding in arrival. Waiting seemed to be all he did these days. Waiting for tomorrow, waiting for the elevator, waiting for Helda to shut up, waiting to see his kids, waiting for all this to be over. To finally rest.
A small bell sounded the elevator and the two doors shuttered open. Good Mercy had been in the middle of renovations when his time came, so he was left with shitty lights and a shitty elevator, but less shitty equipment. He stepped into the interior of the elevator, ignoring the cheap lighting being shut out as the doors closed again.
He was so tired and lost in thought he didn’t notice the Watchmen next to him for at least a good fifteen kigs. Not that he could actually tell, but still. The two metal figures floated on each side of him, hemming him in. An undeserved sense of fear filled his guts, spreading its cold fingers through his body. “Nothing to worry about,” he whispered to himself. Not even loud enough really for him to hear. “Good day today, isn’t it,” he asked the two Watchmen. Not that he expected an answer.
“Oh, I guess this is me, then. You have a good day.” If he’d had a hat, he would have tipped it. But before he could leave the elevator, the Watchman near the button panel pushed the Door Close and the action written on the glowing button happened. Now he was truly nervous. “Umm…that’s okay. I can wait if you two have to be somewhere else first.”
One of the Watchman, the one that hadn’t pushed the button, made a whirring sound, and a small card came out of its chest. The card looked to be made of gold. It held it over a scanner built into the elevator, just under the radio, which was churning out jazz. Suddenly there was a jolt in the machine, and then they were moving up. Faster than Howard had thought possible in the crappy old elevators of Good Mercy. Neither of the Watchmen seemed fazed by the jerk, and they just kept staring through sightless eyes at the iron walls of the cage Howard now felt he was in.
Sooner than Howard would have liked, the elevator came to a halt. He stepped back to allow the Watchmen to get through easily, but instead the two moved closer to him, almost touching shoulder to shoulder. They were shorter up close. He’d always thought of them as taller than him, but they seemed to be his height now. Not that that meant much, since they could float a few inches higher if they wanted. So maybe they were taller than him the other times he saw them. But now was not the moment to be remembering that because they were grasping both hands and clenching them in their metal fists. He gasped in pain.
“Hey!” he protested. “Hey! What are you doing?” The two Watchmen began to drag him out of the elevator, and no matter how hard he dug his heels into the carpeted floor, he just couldn’t stop them. “What are you doing with me?” Howard realized he was crying. “I haven’t done anything wrong!” All he could think now was he would miss that episode of House. He’d already seen it more times than he could count.
The imposing figures to either side said nothing, even as he pleaded for information. He felt helpless as a bunny from a wolf, or rather, two quite large rabid wolves who had never been near civilization and would have absolutely no mercy.
The hallway he’d stumbled into was bare of anything: Color, furniture, life. It was barren. Completely and utterly. Howard had to go to the bathroom, but he didn’t think that was about to happen anytime soon. “Where are you taking me,” he sobbed, one last try. The Watchmen on his left yanked his arm and he heard a pop. Then the world went black.
When light started coming back into view, there wasn’t much of it to make any difference. He thought his eyes were open, but he couldn’t be sure. The room around him, if it was a room, was pitch black, and all he saw was a sea of darkness spreading out in front of him for what could be miles. In the dark, distance had no claim to anything. It was one large, ambiguous space, home to anything and everything that lurks, conjuring images of monsters that did not exist outside of the mind until you heard footsteps near you and could feel hot breath on your neck.
Except this time, there was. It was not the choking, heaving breathing of the monsters featured in his childhood nightmares, but it was there nonetheless. And it was literally right on his neck. He felt the warm stream of piss spread through his pants.
“So…” a voice began. “I see you met somebody today that should not have been out.” The voice was young. Very young. Child young. “Sorry to be so frightening, but I just can’t have you seeing me now, can I? That would be bad for business.” The footsteps walked around him, stopping once they were directly in front of his sprawled body. He could feel the sharp sting of wires cutting into his wrists, which were behind his back. He did not even try to free them. Howard didn’t even try to see if they were actually tied.
The child-voice giggled. “Can you guess what my business is, Howard Donald Keinstern?” The giggling stopped. “Well?” An indignant huff. Howard couldn’t blink from fear, let alone answer a question. “You know, it isn’t nice when you don’t answer someone. You, teach him some manners.”
A kick found his stomach, and if he hadn’t been sitting against what felt like a wall, he would have been propelled backward. As it was, it just meant he couldn’t get away from the force of it. Blood bubbled in his gut, trying to force its way from his mouth. He held it back.
“Now, can you guess my business?” Howard shook his head as much as he could. The child was not appeased. “Say something! This isn’t fun if I can’t hear you!” There was a whine in the voice, like a petulant little girl wanting something from her parents. How many times had he heard that tone from Cass? Tears trailed down his face, but silently. He had no energy for the loud sobs his heart demanded of him.
Finally, the voice gave up. “I guess I’ll just tell you.” The tone suddenly became more serious than Howard had ever heard from a child. “I deal in the business of fear, and I am very successful.” Silence followed. “Do you know why I brought you here?”
“Jane,” Howard choked out to the best of his ability. I’m sorry, Jane. “I don’t know anything about her. I swear. And I haven’t seen your face, so I don’t know who you are. Please. Just let me go.”
“Jane?” The child had distaste in its voice. “You gave her a name? Ugh. I’ll never hear the end of it. You,” the kid began talking to someone else, leaving Howard alone with his thoughts. If they let me go, I swear I will find Cass and Tracie again, and little Tommy. He didn’t have a God to pray to anymore; not after Death. Anyone who’s listening. Please.
“Right, then,” the voice cut in. “You were unhelpful. Swear you don’t know anything?” He shook his head violently. “Okay. I’ll let you go.” Howard slumped in relief. “You heard me,” the child said to some unknown entity. “Let him go.”
Rough, cool hands untied the cord around his wrists, and Howard flexed his hands, allowing the blood to flow back. He had more of that now. Blood. After the wash of fear, he felt weak as he was brought to his feet. I’m like Jane, now. Unsteady. Thinking of Jane brought back the guilt, so he shoved her away to a corner of his mind as dark as this room.
The kid’s footsteps sounded on the floor, which must have been some sort of marble because he could hear every fall of the heel and every pound of the toe. “Thank you,” he whispered through his ragged throat, almost unable to talk with the intense feeling of gratefulness spreading through his body. “Thank you so much.”
There was a pause in which he felt the child’s stare. “I take it back actually,” it said calmly. “You’ve annoyed me. Cancel him.” And then the footsteps were gone, through a door into another dark room, so all Howard ever saw of his captor was a faint, short silhouette. And then he was alone. And then there was movement beside him as something came up next to him. “Wait,” he said. “Wait, no! NO, YOU PROMISED!” His shouts went unheard, the small child already gone forever. “No,” he whispered.
It wasn’t a nice feeling, the Cancellation. But it was over soon, and then the body of Howard the Doctor was locked in a dark room and left to be forgotten.
And that's it! I know, it's a lot! But it's good, right? Either way, please comment below and give your opinions and you can find more coming soon at helpcantstopbooks.tumblr.com
~Thank you~
Waking up
First breath. The air seemed stale, not quite enough to fill her lungs. There was no texture to it, no need to keep sucking in more and more; no reason to breathe. This is no true air, she thought, but then wondered how she could possibly know this when she had never tasted air before. Even the word itself seemed foreign to her. Yet she still knew it. This seemed to be the only thing she knew, for she did not even know how to open her eyes. They were so heavy, and so was her body. If she was thinking, she would consider where she was, and how she got there. As it was, all she could do was let her limbs go as she collapsed on the hard ground.
There were people noises all around her just then, although she couldn’t say what made them people noises, exactly. Just a few grunts of surprise, the thud of flesh on the ground, and cold hands grasping her arms, trying too late to keep her on her feet. All around her was a sudden hurricane of sound, voices calling out for help.
“Excuse me.” The voice was a high, reedy woman’s voice. “Are you alright, dear? I’m sure you’re feeling very confused right now. It’s no matter. We’ll get the Watch, and they can help you.” A pat on her shoulder, and then she was left there. Other voices chimed in around her.
“Did you see-?”
“Not even here for a kig-”
“So strange.”
A loud voice broke into the cacophony, one clear thought in an ocean of uncertainty and curiosity. “Well I say we leave her. Nothing good comes from a girl who doesn’t take any time to adjust. I don’t like it.”
“Nobody said you have to stay, Rob,” another man said. He had a girlish voice, the kind of voice that she associated with someone who would never have stood up to another had he not been surrounded by witnesses. Murmurs of agreement followed his statement, and footsteps told her Rob had taken his leave. “I’m glad he’s gone.” More murmurs of concurrence.
“She’s right here.” The woman with the reedy voice was back. “Not even here for a quant and she was already on the ground flopping like a fish.”
“No, Kathy. Not even a kig. It was almost like she was falling before she got here.” The new voice sounded like another woman, but this one with a deeper, buttery voice. “We all saw it, Mr. Watchman. I’ve never seen anything like it.” She wished she could open her eyes so she could keep track of who was talking.
Another moment of shuffling steps, almost like someone was rushing to get out of the way, and there was a shadow above her. Only by the darkness caused by the shadow could she tell that anything was different. There was still no smell, and all she could feel was the rough texture of where she lay. Probably concrete or some other type of stone. She didn’t know where she knew this from. It was if her body recognized it without alerting her mind.
“You will come with me,” a metallic voice grated above her. No breath exhaled as it spoke. “You will come with me,” the voice repeated as if she were deaf. She wished she could show she understood- although she wasn’t quite sure how she could make out a meaning from the sounds the being was making-but she couldn’t even flutter an eyelid, much less nod her head. Was she doomed to lay like this for the rest of existence?
Rough hands pulled her up. “Here you go, miss. Sorry,” it apologized when her elbow scraped the ground. “I know just how you feel. The Arrival is always the worst part, so don’t you worry. You’ve gotten past the bad part.” It sounded like an old man’s voice, and something in her trusted him. Of course, she had no way of stopping him as he dragged her the rest of the way on her feet, since she still couldn’t move her body on her own. He was very strong for one who sounded like her grandfather. What’s a grandfather? This was all very confusing.
Someone cleared their throat. “Pardon me, Watchman, but shouldn’t she go to the doctor’s first? To get evaluated and all that? She doesn’t look very good. I really suggest going to the doctor’s…” The woman, Kathy, faltered a bit in her monologue. “Yes, well, I’m sure you know best.” New footsteps led away from the scene she was creating.
“That Kathy never knew when to shut her mouth,” one man said.
“Yeah, well it’s not like we weren’t all thinking that,” the deeper voiced women muttered under her breath. “I’m sorry,” she said. “You, girl, I’m sorry. I don’t know what you did, but it was just your luck to die and be forced into this situation.”
Was she talking to her? What was that part about death? Her head was spinning, although that could have just been from all the blood rushing out of it to the rest of her body. Her limbs felt numb, and her fingers pounded as circulation returned.
“Let’s go, Barry. And you, Kyle. You’re just a little kid. You shouldn’t be here. All of you, get the hell out of the way. This is none of our business.”
The sound of chastised people was carried away as the crowd around her thinned out. But she still felt the pressure of the old man gripping her, making sure she didn’t fall. And there was still the presence of the shadowy figure who now stood before her. If only she could open her eyes.
“Well,” croaked the old man. “It sure was nice to meet you. I hope everything goes well.” The hand on her arm disappeared, and suddenly she was alone with this sinister being.
“Sleep well,” the metal voice whispered, followed by a sharp pain in the flesh of her elbow. And then her body was even more numb than it had been only moments before, and the black that had been bordering the edges of her mind closed over her and stifled the rest of her thoughts.
A steady stream of images played out behind her eyes, dancing out of reach. A foggy image of a curly-haired woman with blurry green eyes laughs at her as she jumps through tall grass on two feet, bending her knees just so to get the most trajectory possible. Then there are hands behind her lifting her up and she is flying, laughing as the breeze plays over her face. It smells like the end of summer, and the promise of colored leaves falling. And then there is a blonde boy with a nervous expression on his too-thin face leaning close, and she can almost taste the mint wafting from his ever-present gum. She is leaning back on metal lockers, looking at her with bored, pale blue eyes, and her lock is digging in uncomfortably, but she manages to keep a sickly grin on her face. She thinks his sharp nose will poke her in the eye, and she doesn’t know what she would do if it did. Probably laugh. He wouldn’t like that. And now a small child with the woman’s hair is running through a pile of leaves, scattering them in the wind, their colors fluttering around her like a kaleidoscope. A cool smell reaches her nostrils, to be replaced by the scent of dead plants as she rolls in the crinkling dead tree appendages. A man with a harsh face looks at her with anger, and she feels fear blossom in her chest, reaching out its cool fingers and betraying her body into immobility. A woman’s voice screams as the man lifts a hand and it comes streaking toward her face.
All the images were familiar to her; she knew them. But at the same time, she was seeing them through new eyes. Like they had happened to someone else. A montage of the greatest hits of someone else’s life, yet played out as though it was her own.
She didn’t know how long she watched this personal film, but she finally awoke in a brightly lit room. Light filtered through her eyelids, casting a red glow. Her first thought: Four vigs, nineteen quants, sixteen kigs. Not knowing what that meant, she quickly forgot it and tried to open her eyes. There was a crust covering her eyelids, stopping her from seeing her surrounding. Had the crust been there earlier? She couldn’t remember. How long had she been out?
“She’s awake,” a thin voice next to her said by her side. Footsteps approached quickly, clicking on tiled flooring. The surface beneath her was cool and smooth, nothing like the last place she had found herself. It felt like it could have been metal. “How long has she been out,” the voice asks again, as if it had heard her thought from earlier. The voice had a low-pitched tone, but it obviously belonged to a woman.
“At least a clat.” The answering voice was much deeper, a buttery baritone. “Have we somehow gotten a name yet, or shall we give her a deer?” This didn’t make much sense. She had to open her eye’s, but when she tried they remained glued together.
Someone turned on a faucet to her right, and soon after she felt soft thumbs pressing the liquid into her eyes, flushing away the gunk. Finally, she opened her eyes to the barest squint, not wanting to blind herself. All she saw of the ceiling was bare whiteness, and neither of the owners of the voices could be seen from where she lay.
“Turn the light off,” the deep voice commanded. The room got dark immediately. “There, now at least she won’t be so frightened. And can see better. The two tend to go together.” He sounded like he was smiling a little.
“Name?” The woman spoke without interest, as if she’d asked the question millions of times before. If only she knew her name. She opened her eyes the rest of the way and glanced around her fully. The deep-voiced man was out of her peripheral vision, but she could hear the clink of medical instruments and the rush of water as he cleaned them. To her left, seated close to her, was the woman with the thin voice. She wore square-framed glasses and had a round head, with a permanent grimace marking her face. It was a lifestyle smile. She had a pug nose and a mole on her chin. Her greying, frizzy hair tried to keep itself in a bun. “Name,” she asked again with a little less patience than the first time, if that were possible.
“Great, we got another stupid one.” A clipboard rests on her hammy knees. It wasn’t until then that she noticed how heavy-set the woman was. “Put her down for Jane, Doc. We aren’t gonna get anything else from her.”
“I don’t know about that, Helda. You know how bad you were when you Arrived. She could just be adjusting. Seems like she’s doing better already than anyone else I’ve heard of.”
“What do you mean?” Despite the lack of caring in the woman’s voice, she almost sounded intrigued.
“I heard it from Jesse-you know, Roger’s kid-that she collapsed almost the exact time she Arrived. So maybe you should cut the girl some slack. Open,” the last part was directed at her. She opened her mouth automatically, and a goop found its way in, choking her with its thickness.
Helda scoffed. “She doesn’t need slack from me with a face like that. Probably another air-for-brains model who died from an eating disorder. What a world.” The woman grunted as she rose to her feet. “And I wouldn’t exactly trust the word of a boy. They all like to make the world more romantic and interesting than it is.” She walked out of the field of vision, presumably toward ‘Doc.’
“What we do with them all,” Doc sighed after a moment. A few scratches on the clipboard upon his diagnosis. “It’s the Unit for her. And even if Jess is just a boy, he’s got the same eyes as the rest of us. Anyone can notice someone who doesn’t stumble around for a little bit before their Realization.”
“Still, wasn’t Jesse the one who shredded the Unit files once on a dare when his father wasn’t paying attention?” There was some fondness in Helda’s hateful tone.
Doc chuckled. “Yes, well, boys will be boys. In my day shredding papers was the least of it. Imagine Jesse with my old man’s gun.”
“He can’t be a boy forever,” Helda groused.
“Yes he can.” The new voice sounded strange, strangled. Unused. A blanket fell over the room, covering up the remains of the conversation as the two people stood shocked as they watched the girl on the table raise herself up. It took her a moment to realize the voice belonged to her. Is that what I sound like, then? She looked at the table beneath her. It is metal, she noted.
Looking up finally at the two strangers, she saw the woman with the mean face and the buxom body standing next to a brown-haired, tall man with a hooked nose and large, watery greyish eyes. They were both staring at her with something like fear in their expressions.
What is fear, she wondered. It was hard to remember, but the concept seemed like it should be familiar to her. Like it had been before, but it, too, had been washed away when she washed up on the concrete earlier.
“Did you hear…?” A woman’s thin voice spoke from far away, outside of her brain. She’d never seen a room like this before, although it, too, felt natural. With her eyes open for the first time, she was having many new/not new experiences. Perhaps she’d been somewhere like this before, with its white walls and posters of organs. What are organs? A word bubbled to the surface of her brain, rippling from her lips like water poured from a glass.
“Doctor.”
“Yes, I heard,” said the man’s voice, giving no recognition that he had heard her speak. He is all business now, his shimmery eyes cold as stone. “How can you think already?” This question seemed clearer, more direct. He wasn’t talking from the side of his mouth.
She felt cold. It was something she could and couldn’t remember feeling, like the memory of something written that had been read years later. One could barely remember the sensation of writing it, but reading it still felt nostalgic. Cold seeped from the shiny surface on the table she was atop, so she swung her legs over the edge. They dangled like dead weights, and she revelled in the feeling of their natural movement back and forth. She felt strange. The movement of limbs was new.
“You. Jane Doe Twelve. How do you feel?” Who were they talking to? With all the new feelings in her, she was not concentrating enough to distinguish between the voices. Who had spoken? Whoever it had been, Doc spoke next. “Hello? Can you hear me?” He waved his hand up to alert her that he was communication with her.
“Yes,” she answered. Doc and Helda blinked in surprise. She listened to the calm, cool sound that flowed from deep in her throat. She had shaken the cobwebs from her voice. There was a huskiness, but also a lilt to the tone, like an old jazz singer, although she didn’t think she had ever sung before. Singing was a foreign concept to her, and she did not know where the word came from.
“Do you remember your name now?” It was still Doc talking. He kept speaking over her thoughts just when she seemed to be getting somewhere. But she liked it when Doc spoke better than when Helda did. Helda had not been quite so nice. Even if Doc was still staring at her with a strange look in those cold, gray eyes, she felt he was the more caring of the two. Perhaps it was something in his soft, circular face. His tanned skin looked well-worn from smiles, and his lips were permanently upturned at the corners.
He was looking at her, expecting an answer. “Your name.” Doc tried to regain her attention. “Do you remember your name?”
“What is a name?” She knew that somewhere inside her head, in the same place as the other facts floating around, lay the answer to her question, but she was too confused to go sorting through it. She did not have room at the moment to weave through the puzzle of her mind.
“Well, a name is what someone calls you. Does someone call you something?” She stared at him blankly. “My name is Howard, and this is Helda.” He gestured to her, and her grim face turned an even darker shade of angry and annoyed. “Those are our name.” He spoke slowly and carefully, like he didn’t think she could understand him. And he had dropped the cold look in his eyes to adopt a more open expression, which she could insinuate meant he didn’t want to scare her. “What is yours?”
She shrugged. “I don’t have a name.”
Helda and Doc-Howard-exchanged looks. She couldn’t read what thought passed between them, but she thought it was something like disbelief. Doc cleared his throat. “Everyone has a name. We’ll just wait until you remember yours.”
“Until then, you’re Jane Doe Twelve, got that?” Helda finally spoke up again as she glanced away. “I’m not wasting my time on a forgetful shit like you. Got too many other things to worry about. I’m thinking a good ten jots in the Unit, eh Doc?” Helda looked to the kinder person next to her.
He nodded. “Yes, I think she could use it. Here, Jane, take these. For the pain.” He handed her two blue pills, and filled a cup with water from the tap. When he handed it to her he didn’t look her in the eyes. She noticed a slight sheen on his forehead. Sweat, she thought.
The cup was made of thin paper, and she was afraid the water would drip through the fragile casing. Light bounced off the surface, casting strange shadows over the liquid. “What am I supposed to do with these?” She gestured at her full right hand and her somewhat full left hand, still holding the two blue pills. Even the pills seemed familiar, although they were a different color than what the images in her head told her. Those pills were larger, but a pill is a pill. However, the images could not tell her where exactly such things were supposed to go.
Howard the Doctor looked at her; Helda snorted from the counter, where she was resting her clipboard. Most likely she had tired of holding it. Sighing through his teeth-making it look more like a snake hissing-Howard ran his hand through his thick, dark hair. He was relatively young for someone who seemed so tired, and had the hard eyes of the wary. But there was still some shred of playfulness in them, in the place where his few jokes came from. Once he recovered from his momentary pause, he met her eyes. “Don’t make this harder, okay? Just take the pills.” He almost looked sorry.
She shook her head. “That’s not what I meant. I mean, what does ‘take the pills’ mean?” Honest confusion shone from her eyes, begging for his understanding. Maybe if she could figure out what this small thing meant, everything else would click back into place. It was a pointless and probably improbable hope, but she hoped it nonetheless.
The doctor had a look like disbelief, but Helda didn’t. “Here,” she said, crossing to where she sat. She grabbed the pills from her palm and yanked her jaw open. “They go here,” snapped her jaw shut. “Now drink.” She indicated to the water. One sip and the pills made their way down her throat. “Now would you just shut up so my headache will leave. I gotta go, doc. I just can’t do it with this one.”
“Do what,” she asked. Helda threw up her hands in defeat and left the room, taking her clipboard with her. She turned back to Howard the Doctor, who had a grudging smile forcing up the side of his lips. The warmth still remained when he looked back at her after watching Helda walk through the door.
“You sure know how to please a woman, don’t you,” he chuckled. “Don’t worry. As nice as that one is, she isn’t very nice. However, she did take my clipboard, which I do not appreciate.”
She watched as he sighed once again, this time without teeth. “You keep changing,” she noted. The doctor raised one eyebrow.
“Can you please elaborate?”
“You switch back and forth between being serious and being goofy? Which are you? Which one should I take seriously? The one who makes fun of a nurse he knows, or the one who looks at me like some kind of monster?” It wasn’t until she described how he looked at her that she understood what he thought of her. Howard had the fish of a mouth, flopping open and closed quickly as though out of air. It was comical. “That is what you think of me, isn’t it?”
Finally, the fish mouth closed for the last time. He shook his head like he could shake off the thoughts it had been holding. “No,” he protested, “I don’t. You aren’t a monster, Jane. You’re just…different than most of the patients I’ve had. I’m sorry if I’ve upset you, but I guess you’re much more perceptive than we originally believed. You can’t fault a guy for being ignorant. It’s what we humans do best, after all.” As he spoke, he dropped the remains of the coldness, leaving only a middle-aged man with all his hair and a wash-out smile on his tan face.
Jane, she thought. Is that me? Jane must be for her what Howard was for Howard the Doctor, and Helda was for the bitter old lady who had taken her leave. Jane is what I am called. For some reason, this pleased her. Jane was hers, and she was Jane’s.
“So what do I do now,” Jane asked. “What am I? Am I human too?” She didn’t feel like she wasn’t, but she wasn’t sure what ‘being human’ was supposed to feel like.
Howard appraised her thoughtfully, but without depth. He wasn’t looking at her so much as he was staring near her, like he thought having his eyes in her vicinity constituted understanding her. “I would assume so,” he said at last. “I’m not sure what else you could be. You look human, for sure. Although, maybe a tad bit too pretty for your own good.” His cheeks rounded as his lips wrinkled in a smile. “Nope. My diagnosis would be human. Sorry to disappoint.”
Jane decided not to glance at him, lest she come under the same delusion that seeing meant understanding. Instead, she noticed the room around her: the white ceiling; the light blue walls with the wooden cabinets (all closed, hiding secrets she would never know); the metal table she sat on, with its sharp edges that dug in under her thighs where they rested; the tiled floor that was mostly white, with other colors like red and dark blue running through it, creating the look of paint spatters. And she noticed the sinisters machines. Not many. There was one right by the door that looked like a scanner (how she knew this she could not say), and another close to where she was that had fluids in a little bag. Needles rested on and near it, covering surfaces wherever possible. They made her think of the sharp pain she had felt back on the stone surface where she had fallen. When she looked at her elbow, she saw a small cotton swab held on by a thin, clear strip of tape.
Howard noticed her looking. He grimaced before saying, “I really shouldn’t be the one to tell you this, but you’re dead.” He looked at her like he was afraid she would start crying. When she just nodded, he continued: “Occasionally, some Arrivals hold on to the vestiges of life. When they drugged you to calm you down, we found that you could bleed. After that, we had to make sure you were getting nutrients. That’s what that thing’s for.” He pointed at the bag of fluid. “It makes sure you don’t…well, die, I guess. Even though you’re already dead. Weird, huh?” His strange, sad smile was back.
“You were still able to bleed when we took the IV out, so we put the cotton there to stem the flow. It should probably be done. I’m sure if you took it off you’d find almost nothing on it anyway.” He took her arm in one hand and used his thumb to push up an edge on the tape. Then he pulled.
She jerked in surprise, and a little pain. But then it was off, and Howard showed her the swab. He was right. There was almost nothing there. When she looked at her arm, she couldn’t even see a hole where she assumed the IV had been. “See? Nothing to worry about.”
“Why was I still alive a little if I was dead? That doesn’t make sense.” Jane couldn’t understand this. The other things she didn’t remember seemed okay not to remember, like she would just learn later. This was something she didn’t even recognize, and it made her curious and scared. “You are either dead, or you are alive,” she said, still trying to make her point even though she felt she already had.
“Yup,” Howard agreed. “However, some of us just don’t want to let go. The ones like that experience what you did, and for a while they are still almost living. Not quite, but not quite dead yet either. Then, we have to use what anybody in Life would use, and finally we don’t have to use anything because they’re all-dead.” Explaining about death didn’t seem to bother him. “Anyway, you won’t know about Life yet. They’ll teach you that in the Unit.”
“What’s the Unit?” Suddenly she was feeling dizzy. More than before. Howard the Doctor had to catch her as she wobbled on the table.
He grabbed her legs and turned her so she was on her side, setting her legs back on the table. “I’m really sorry about all this,” he told her. He still sounded so guilty. Why did he sound guilty. “I guess now I know why I don’t like being all friendly with my patients, especially the strange cases. It makes these parts that much harder.”
“Makes…what…hard.” Her eyes were closing again against her will. Her breathing slowing down. Her limbs getting heavier. “What,” she barely mumbled through frozen lips.
“Just remember this the next time someone hands you pills, okay? For me? I don’t want this to happen to you again, although technically I’m not supposed to care.” But she was already asleep. Howard the Doctor heaved his shoulders and patted the sleeping girl’s head. He really did feel bad. In a way, this strange girl reminded him of Cassie. “You would have loved Cass, I bet.”
“She was my little girl. She’s probably all grown up now. I wish they would give me her Time. I’ve probably been here long enough.” He started cleaning the area around her, picking up the needles she had knocked down when they brought her in. She hadn’t even seemed conscious. More like she could tell what they were doing to her without even having to be awake. She had knocked all the needles off the counter and was even managing quite a bit of struggling against the Watchmen who had carried her in.
Her long, reddish-brown hair had been tangled in mats, but he had still seen the waves and curls that formed in it. Pale skin and freckled cheeks, arms, and legs all in a bundle. She was wearing only a tank top and a pair of ratted shorts. Wherever she had been when she had died, she had probably been hot.
The doctor frowned as he remembered the rough handling of the girl. “Don’t worry. Now that we’ve got you evaluated and we’re putting you in the Unit, I’m sure they’ll leave you alone.” He wasn’t sure why he was telling this to her, her being asleep and all, but it made him feel better to say it. A little less guilty for having stood by and watched it happen. “Yeah. I’m sure,” he repeated, not really believing it.
A short time later, Howard left the room, leaving the girl sprawled on the examination table. He never worried anymore that they would be picked up. They always were. The hospital hallways was bustling as usual. Howard was never quite sure how it was so busy all the time. With all of them being dead, it didn’t seem like there was much need of a hospital. Someone who was dead couldn’t become more dead. There was the occasional case where somebody died again, but it was always worked out and they always came through with or without medical attention. In this society, there would always be injuries; but that didn’t mean Good Mercy was necessary.
Why are you even thinking this? At least it’s something to do. That was true enough. There never seemed to be an end to his day, and always, always, there was another day to wake up to and try to find something to do with. His kids and his wife had been left behind after the accident, so now he stayed at home on his days off and watched whatever crap was on the TV. One good thing about Death was there were no bills to pay, and there was always TV. But no new shows. No new people except for the trickle of Arrivals.
Martha waved at him from a room with an older patient. The woman was trying to explain something about her son. He could only catch snatches of what she was saying. “But…He just…Waiting.” Howard walked over to the small room. His shift was over, and the lady at the desk, Sharon, was looking at him in confusion. Usually he left as soon as possible, but something about the auburn-haired girl was making him want to help this old woman. This was why he didn’t joke with the patients.
“How’s it goin, Howie?” Martha was a pretty woman in her late thirties. Her bronze skin shone under the fluorescent lighting, managing to look sickly pale. But everyone looked sick in this hospital. Irony for you. “What brings you over here,” she asked with a smile. When she smiled, it was with her whole mouth. All her teeth showed. His wife had smiled like that.
“What’s up with this one,” he gestured at the old lady, who had stopped speaking when she saw him approaching. “Hello, miss. Is there anything I can help you with today?” The woman blinked up at him pitifully.
“My son,” she croaked. “I’m just waiting for my son. He promised he was coming up next weekend. He promised.”
Howard looked at Martha, who just sighed and shook her head. “Yes, I’m sure he will, miss…?” The old woman did not give her name. She had pale fluffy hair, and almost looked like his assistant, Helda. “Well, until he gets here, maybe you should…” Here he turned to Martha.
She jumped right in, “Just sit back and rest a while, Mrs. Carthy. Your son will be along in a bit, but until then you should get some sleep. You want to be awake for Andrew, don’t you?” The old woman looked like a deer caught in headlights. Much like the girl had when she had first woken up. He remembered being surprised at how quickly she had recovered. Enough to speak after only a few kigs of consciousness. And after only a quant or two (he thought) she had been speaking. Clearly.
Martha was helping Mrs. Carthy back to her bed. She looked at him. “Thanks, Howie. You know how these ones get. It’s so sad.” He nodded at her in understanding. Forgetting wasn’t necessarily constrained to the elderly, but there were far fewer young people he met who Forgot. Thankfully, he had never gone through that.
“Well, I supposed I’ll see you tomorrow then?” He was already walking out of the room, mentally berating himself for having entered in the first place. He heard Martha say something about having the day off. “Right. Well, I guess I’ll see you when I see you,” he called over his shoulder. She shouted something back, but he didn’t hear.
This time as he passed the front desk, he didn’t pause. He walked in a straight line until he got to the elevators. He pressed the L and waited for the elevator to ding in arrival. Waiting seemed to be all he did these days. Waiting for tomorrow, waiting for the elevator, waiting for Helda to shut up, waiting to see his kids, waiting for all this to be over. To finally rest.
A small bell sounded the elevator and the two doors shuttered open. Good Mercy had been in the middle of renovations when his time came, so he was left with shitty lights and a shitty elevator, but less shitty equipment. He stepped into the interior of the elevator, ignoring the cheap lighting being shut out as the doors closed again.
He was so tired and lost in thought he didn’t notice the Watchmen next to him for at least a good fifteen kigs. Not that he could actually tell, but still. The two metal figures floated on each side of him, hemming him in. An undeserved sense of fear filled his guts, spreading its cold fingers through his body. “Nothing to worry about,” he whispered to himself. Not even loud enough really for him to hear. “Good day today, isn’t it,” he asked the two Watchmen. Not that he expected an answer.
“Oh, I guess this is me, then. You have a good day.” If he’d had a hat, he would have tipped it. But before he could leave the elevator, the Watchman near the button panel pushed the Door Close and the action written on the glowing button happened. Now he was truly nervous. “Umm…that’s okay. I can wait if you two have to be somewhere else first.”
One of the Watchman, the one that hadn’t pushed the button, made a whirring sound, and a small card came out of its chest. The card looked to be made of gold. It held it over a scanner built into the elevator, just under the radio, which was churning out jazz. Suddenly there was a jolt in the machine, and then they were moving up. Faster than Howard had thought possible in the crappy old elevators of Good Mercy. Neither of the Watchmen seemed fazed by the jerk, and they just kept staring through sightless eyes at the iron walls of the cage Howard now felt he was in.
Sooner than Howard would have liked, the elevator came to a halt. He stepped back to allow the Watchmen to get through easily, but instead the two moved closer to him, almost touching shoulder to shoulder. They were shorter up close. He’d always thought of them as taller than him, but they seemed to be his height now. Not that that meant much, since they could float a few inches higher if they wanted. So maybe they were taller than him the other times he saw them. But now was not the moment to be remembering that because they were grasping both hands and clenching them in their metal fists. He gasped in pain.
“Hey!” he protested. “Hey! What are you doing?” The two Watchmen began to drag him out of the elevator, and no matter how hard he dug his heels into the carpeted floor, he just couldn’t stop them. “What are you doing with me?” Howard realized he was crying. “I haven’t done anything wrong!” All he could think now was he would miss that episode of House. He’d already seen it more times than he could count.
The imposing figures to either side said nothing, even as he pleaded for information. He felt helpless as a bunny from a wolf, or rather, two quite large rabid wolves who had never been near civilization and would have absolutely no mercy.
The hallway he’d stumbled into was bare of anything: Color, furniture, life. It was barren. Completely and utterly. Howard had to go to the bathroom, but he didn’t think that was about to happen anytime soon. “Where are you taking me,” he sobbed, one last try. The Watchmen on his left yanked his arm and he heard a pop. Then the world went black.
When light started coming back into view, there wasn’t much of it to make any difference. He thought his eyes were open, but he couldn’t be sure. The room around him, if it was a room, was pitch black, and all he saw was a sea of darkness spreading out in front of him for what could be miles. In the dark, distance had no claim to anything. It was one large, ambiguous space, home to anything and everything that lurks, conjuring images of monsters that did not exist outside of the mind until you heard footsteps near you and could feel hot breath on your neck.
Except this time, there was. It was not the choking, heaving breathing of the monsters featured in his childhood nightmares, but it was there nonetheless. And it was literally right on his neck. He felt the warm stream of piss spread through his pants.
“So…” a voice began. “I see you met somebody today that should not have been out.” The voice was young. Very young. Child young. “Sorry to be so frightening, but I just can’t have you seeing me now, can I? That would be bad for business.” The footsteps walked around him, stopping once they were directly in front of his sprawled body. He could feel the sharp sting of wires cutting into his wrists, which were behind his back. He did not even try to free them. Howard didn’t even try to see if they were actually tied.
The child-voice giggled. “Can you guess what my business is, Howard Donald Keinstern?” The giggling stopped. “Well?” An indignant huff. Howard couldn’t blink from fear, let alone answer a question. “You know, it isn’t nice when you don’t answer someone. You, teach him some manners.”
A kick found his stomach, and if he hadn’t been sitting against what felt like a wall, he would have been propelled backward. As it was, it just meant he couldn’t get away from the force of it. Blood bubbled in his gut, trying to force its way from his mouth. He held it back.
“Now, can you guess my business?” Howard shook his head as much as he could. The child was not appeased. “Say something! This isn’t fun if I can’t hear you!” There was a whine in the voice, like a petulant little girl wanting something from her parents. How many times had he heard that tone from Cass? Tears trailed down his face, but silently. He had no energy for the loud sobs his heart demanded of him.
Finally, the voice gave up. “I guess I’ll just tell you.” The tone suddenly became more serious than Howard had ever heard from a child. “I deal in the business of fear, and I am very successful.” Silence followed. “Do you know why I brought you here?”
“Jane,” Howard choked out to the best of his ability. I’m sorry, Jane. “I don’t know anything about her. I swear. And I haven’t seen your face, so I don’t know who you are. Please. Just let me go.”
“Jane?” The child had distaste in its voice. “You gave her a name? Ugh. I’ll never hear the end of it. You,” the kid began talking to someone else, leaving Howard alone with his thoughts. If they let me go, I swear I will find Cass and Tracie again, and little Tommy. He didn’t have a God to pray to anymore; not after Death. Anyone who’s listening. Please.
“Right, then,” the voice cut in. “You were unhelpful. Swear you don’t know anything?” He shook his head violently. “Okay. I’ll let you go.” Howard slumped in relief. “You heard me,” the child said to some unknown entity. “Let him go.”
Rough, cool hands untied the cord around his wrists, and Howard flexed his hands, allowing the blood to flow back. He had more of that now. Blood. After the wash of fear, he felt weak as he was brought to his feet. I’m like Jane, now. Unsteady. Thinking of Jane brought back the guilt, so he shoved her away to a corner of his mind as dark as this room.
The kid’s footsteps sounded on the floor, which must have been some sort of marble because he could hear every fall of the heel and every pound of the toe. “Thank you,” he whispered through his ragged throat, almost unable to talk with the intense feeling of gratefulness spreading through his body. “Thank you so much.”
There was a pause in which he felt the child’s stare. “I take it back actually,” it said calmly. “You’ve annoyed me. Cancel him.” And then the footsteps were gone, through a door into another dark room, so all Howard ever saw of his captor was a faint, short silhouette. And then he was alone. And then there was movement beside him as something came up next to him. “Wait,” he said. “Wait, no! NO, YOU PROMISED!” His shouts went unheard, the small child already gone forever. “No,” he whispered.
It wasn’t a nice feeling, the Cancellation. But it was over soon, and then the body of Howard the Doctor was locked in a dark room and left to be forgotten.
And that's it! I know, it's a lot! But it's good, right? Either way, please comment below and give your opinions and you can find more coming soon at helpcantstopbooks.tumblr.com
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