The sun was setting as Kevin finished threading the second wire through Patrick's vertebrae. It had been a blustery day. Dark, ominous clouds had barely let any sunshine through. Once again, Kevin had returned to room 981, Chinese takeout in hand, to work on his labor of love.
Now that this step was complete, Kevin knew what he had to do. He would have to face the wind again, though.
Stepping out onto the street, Kevin trundled down the sidewalk to a small store right next to the empty lot surrounding Washington Heights. He entered the store, which was named The Wrath.
Sitting behind the counter was a woman. Kevin approached her.
"I need some magic herbs," he said.
"I don't cater to the wants of those wishing to consume controlled substances," the woman responded.
"I'm not looking for drugs," Kevin rebutted. "I need something that actually has magical properties."
"Well, what are you trying to do?" the woman questioned.
"Bring back a friend," Kevin said. Then, after a short pause, he continued, "from the dead."
The woman stood still and silent for a few breathless moments. Finally, she turned toward one of the glass cases along the walls. "Follow me," she said.
Stopping at one of the glass cases, she pulled a set of keys from one of her pockets. Slowly turning one of the keys in the lock, she turned toward Kevin.
"I can't provide you with all you need," she said, "but I can get you on the right path."
"What do you mean?" inquired Kevin, confused.
"I have a few herbs that you can use, but what you will need most are the entrails of a rat."
Having selected samples of several of the plants in the case, she began to scrawl a few strange words on a scrap of paper. Finishing the last word with a flick, she handed the paper to Kevin.
"Dry the rat entrails - once you've got them, that is. I suggest you visit that taxidermist around the corner. She might spare a few. Then, add these herbs and powder the mixture. Once you have powdered them, burn the powder in the room with the body, letting the smoke fill the room. After a few minutes, say these words. Then, wait. It may take up to hours, but you will reach your goal. I can feel it."
Thanking the woman, Kevin turned to leave.
It was late. He would have to visit the taxidermist tomorrow. It was sure to be a unique experience.
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Elizabeth put her hand to her forehead for the thirteenth time that day.
"Another cup of hot tea?"
"Please," she sighed as she continued to stare at the computer screen.
"Elizabeth,"
She looked to the waitress.
"Are you alright?"
"I—" Elizabeth paused. "Do you have any ice cream?"
"Ice cream?" The waitress asked, perplexed. "It's sleeting outside and you want ice cream?"
"I'll take that as a no," she said, starting to gather her things.
"Wait," she said placing her hand upon Elizabeth's. Their eyes met. "Your burning up."
"I honestly have no idea what you're talking about." She said, pulling her hand away. She stood. Or at least tried to stand. Her knees went limp. She tried to brace herself on the table with a nearby hand, but it slipped on the rough steel edge. The corner slit her palm. Blood began to bloom from her hand and fall like rose petals, staining the floor. The room began to swirl. She heard her name being called at a distance before she was consumed by darkness.
She was back in San Francisco. Lying in a hospital bed with her face bruised, hands scraped up and a small line of stitches beside her right eye. They were still sore. Kaylee lay upon the sheets asleep beside her. She had knocked him out. She had made the phone call. She had ridden in the ambulance.
'Hang on,' she had said to Elizabeth. 'It's going to be ok.'
"Hang on," a voice said in the distance. The bruised face of a woman came in and out of view with a known face behind. "Hang on,"
She was moving. Everyone one was flying past. The sweet smell of the diner had surrendered to the putrid odor of the gutters. Her creative sanctuary was gone — lost.
Lost. Kaylee's innocence was lost. Lost for a memory of flesh meeting flesh with a consequence of red. The slender figure of a fifteen year old tanned only for her desire for nature was now altered forever. Nothing was the same. Not the smoothness of her long brown hair, nor the occasional smile upon her face. Tainted. Stained.
"I hope Mable can get the stain out,"
A whisper on the wind.
"I'm sure she'll be able to get it out," a familiar voice assured her. Kevin.
Gentle and lovable according to the Gaelic. Elizabeth looked over her notes for "The Never-Ending Night." Kevin was her antagonist originally, yet the name seemed more suitable for the protagonist, or the role of the helper depending on which gender she chose for the protagonist. She hadn't decided.
"It can't be that hard to decide, Mandi Mac," Kevin assured the whisperer. "The symptoms aren't that complicated. She has a fever and ... what did she order?"
"Tea," Mandi Mac replied.
"Tea?" Elizabeth had inquired as her mother entered with her hands wrapped around a mug.
"Hey there," her mother whispered as she came to her side. She held Elizabeth's limp hand. "How are you feeling?"
"Terrible!" Madi Mac cried. "I should've known! The last cup of tea I gave her was at six o'clock."
"A few hours ago?"
"No, this morning!"
Sirens echoed her frustration along the streets.
"That's the seventh police siren since we arrived." Kevin observed.
"How can you count when we're sitting in the clinic?" Mandi Mac protested.
"There's nothing else to do."
Quick, sharp footsteps entered the room.
"What's the diagnosis?" Her mother inquired.
"We have two daughter in a hospital bed." Her father observed. "And they both look exhausted."
"Stop being so observant. What did the doctor say she needs?"
"Since we've cooled her fever down, all she needs is lots of rest," the doctor replied. "And fluids. Water and juice, no tea."
"Is that all?" Kevin inquired.
"And some ibuprophen or tylenol for the swelling. Her hand should heal up fairly quickly despite the deepness of the wound. How did you say it happened again?"
Silence.
Kaylee was sitting up in the bed beside her. "I don't know," she sighed at last. "I went to her apartment as the sun was beginning to set. We were supposed to go out tonight. The door was ajar. I ran to the door and followed the sounds of shouting into her bedroom. As I opened the door I found Elizabeth unconscious on the ground with blood running down the side of her face. Malcolm was standing over her beside the file cabinet — blood trickling down the metal. Just as he began to turn his head, I raised my fist and knocked him in the jaw. He fell to the ground unconscious, his lip bleeding. I called 911 and dragged his body away from Elizabeth."
"One of the police cars drove us over." Kevin explained.
"Are either of you related to Ms. Farraday?" the doctor asked.
"No, we just live in the same apartment building."
"Ah, well Ms. Farraday should be set to go home as soon as she wakes."
"Hmm?" Elizabeth inquired.
"You're awake," the doctor smiled. "I'll see if the black van is available."
"The black van?" the three tenants asked simultaneously.
Soon enough Mandi Mac returned to work and Kevin was heading towards the stairs from the seventh floor corridor. He had placed Elizabeth's computer case and a large water bottle by her bed. Elizabeth only slipped into her pajamas before she climbed into her bed to read, hydrate, and soon sleep.
It was done. Finally.
The frozen dinners in my freezer were surrounded by ice and made me cold just looking at them. The cheese was sticky so I had thrown it out. The broccoli had a brown spot and was no good anymore. With no food in the fridge, I was forced to look elsewhere.
"I hope that the diner isn't sticky," I muttered as I hopped the sidewalk outside of the Washington Heights apartment building and moved quickly across the street. My shoes made an odd hollow sound as I stepped onto the manhole, so I stopped and looked down. The cover was black and shining in the dusk, the streetlights bounced off the melted sleet at strange angles. I shivered, thinking about all of the germs and animals and... gross things... that lived under the cover. It terrified me, and yet I couldn't step away. "Rats, sludge, germs, gross, sticky, bugs, roaches, old food, rats..."
A horn honking suddenly made me look up and jump out of the way of an oncoming van that didn't slow at all for me. I hopped out of the street just in time to watch it skid past, black against the streetlamps. I heard a siren in the distance. "Vans and sirens, great place to choose to live, Maria," I chastised myself, yet again. Sigh.
A man jostled past me, glass bottle in his hand. Although it glistened prettily in the dimming light, I thought he probably had had enough since the smell of alcohol drifted off of him already. I raised my eyebrows realizing it was my neighbor, the man who had given me the crisp ten. "Happy hour's over," I said quietly, glancing away. He paused to look at me for a moment; I wasn't sure if he had heard my words.
"I thought you didn't like sidewalks," he smirked, and walked away.
I looked down and nearly jumped out of my skin. "Ah!" I cried, louder than I had intended. I hopped off the sidewalk and back into the street. "I'd rather be here with the threat of vans then on the dirty sidewalk."
I stepped out of the night and into the fluorescent lighting of the diner, jumping the sidewalk on my way inside. I was pleased to see that it looked rather clean. The table nearest me even sparkled contentedly. A girl at the counter was wiping down the table with a white rag. "That looks clean, too," I commented to no one in particular. But the girl heard me and looked up from her work. "What can we do for you tonight?" she asked pleasantly enough, but something in her look made me think of caution and fear.
"Just here to get some dinner," I muttered, looking up and down the counter for something to distract her attention from me. I hated it when people stared at me. Like I was some freak. Like there was something obviously wrong with me. But i had always thought that my oddities were only visible when actually talking to me... maybe I was wrong?
"Sit anywhere you like," the girl said, and went back to cleaning. I sighed quietly.
That was when I saw him. Seated in the last swivel chair at the counter, hunched over a half-empty plate of relatively edible-looking food. He was engrossed in his dinner, eyes down to his plate, feet propped up on the rail of the stool. The waitress seemed to be avoiding him, but he didn't even seem to notice.
I did, though. I noticed him, much more often than he realized, probably. When sitting in my living room at home I was always conscious of the sounds from across the hall, doors opening and closing, footsteps up and down the hall. I awaited his quiet smiles when we passed in the halls. Hearing him say "Good morning, Maria," whenever he hurried past me, off to school, was often the best part of my day. Even if I was in the middle of freaking out or calming down about something or another, his presence always made me pause.
I took a step across the linoleum and towards him. "What are you doing, Maria?" I asked, almost silently. "What are you doing? He doesn't even notice you. He just smiles to be polite. He doesn't notice you." I was still walking slowly towards him. I slid into the seat next to him, and it was only after a moment that he looked up from his plate. That small smile spread across his face in recognition, and my stomach dropped a few inches. "Hey, Maria," he said quietly, "I wouldn't have taken you for the diner type."
I actually grinned in reply before I realized what I had done. I blushed. His smile widened as he looked back down to his food and continued to eat.
Black day
It was a black day. It must have been the shadows cast by the ominous sky. Or how the rain reflected the cold basement lair onto the pavement. Or that black van.
As much as Marissa morbidly savored the cold lonliness of Washington Heights, she couldn't helped but be scared to death by the black van. Screeching, zooming, roaring, shooting its way down Baker Street. Then a scorching turn, an icy splash of rain against the basement windows, and it was gone. Again, the early dawn was black.
And black the day would remain. No sunlight to dispel the dark, damp chill of the menacing Baltimore landscape. Concrete, urban, impersonal -- it was all black.
If Marissa had experienced an Emo phase in high school, she might have suffered a relapse. But she didn't -- she was too busy with... too busy, enough said. She didn't have time for sulking and misery. She did, this morning, however, have time to throw on a stark black shirt, durable jeans, and some don't-even-try black pumps.
No black eye shadow. Never. To the residents of Washington Heights, Marissa would never appear in the least bit discouraged. Only Oscar recognized the subtle mood shifts, hidden by her strikingly beautiful presentation. Oh, Oscar. The closest thing Marissa had to a friend in Washington Heights -- the closest thing she had to reliability.
Well, there were the loony late night drunks. She could always count on them. Like Kevin, for instance, one of the usual suspects. He was a fellow Hopkins student, but about as different as Marissa as she could possibly imagine. And never a chance. Some of her university friends thought him cute -- in a creepy, awkward sort of way -- but he didn't exude the odor of success. And as unsuperficial as Marissa tried to be, she couldn't resist the sweet smell of money.
She wandered toward Oscar's thinking about boys. A rarity, surprisingly. It must have been the introspective nature of the morning. The blackness.
Kevin -- nope. Finn -- too young. Marissa chuckled -- 30 or older, with at least an M.D. Charlie was kind of cute -- maybe for a one-night stand -- but, ooo, Marissa caught herself. She didn't do one night stands. Well, no, Oscar doesn't count. He's just Oscar.
He was safe. And she liked safety. No one could blame her -- she was Massachusetts girl caught in a Chesapeake ghetto. So she walked toward Oscar's, eyes forlorn, gazing into the bleak blackness, and she hoped for a different day. For a girl so driven, so motivated, so focused, Marissa could not even escape the overwhelming decay of Washington Heights.
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