Tales From the Midnight Shift Vol. 1

by Mark Allan Gunnells

  Kevin blushed and looked away. “You know about that?”

  “Yes,” the possum said, and Kevin heard no judgement in its voice. “I also know it only happened the one time.”

  “I guess neither Neil nor myself is perfect.”

  “Do you still love him?”

  Kevin looked up, momentarily stunned by the directness of the question. “Well, it’s hard to say. I mean, there are many qualities about him that—”

  “Stop babbling and answer the question,” the possum said sharply. “Don’t think about it; just answer from the gut. Do you still love him?”

  “No,” Kevin said, and that was the raw, naked truth of it. A truth he tried to hide from himself, but there it was all the same.

  “And do you think he still loves you?”

  “No.”

  “Then here’s the million-dollar question: why are you two still together?”

  Kevin opened his mouth to respond but found no response forthcoming. Laid out in such simple terms, it didn’t seem to make much sense. Two men who no longer loved one another, who did nothing but fight and make each other miserable—why were they still together?

  “You look tired,” the possum said, crushing out his second cigarette. “Why don’t you go get some sleep. We can continue this conversation another night.”

  “You mean we can talk again?”

  “Anytime you want, buddy. Like I said, that’s what I’m here for.”

  “What are you, some kind of guardian angel?”

  “Do I look like Della Reese to you?” the possum said with a throaty laugh. “No, I’m just a friend, here to lend an open ear and maybe a kernel of advice here and there.”

  “Where do you go?” Kevin asked. “When you’re not here, where do you go?”

  “I live behind the refrigerator.”

  “You can’t fit behind the refrigerator.”

  “Well, some would say I can’t talk or smoke a cigarette, but you can testify that I can do those things quite well.”

  “That’s true.”

  “Get to bed. I got to get some beauty sleep myself.”

  Kevin got up and started across the room. Just before he pushed through the swinging door, he turned back to the possum and said, “What’s your name?”

  “Fred.”

  “Well, thanks for everything, Fred.”

  “Not a problem, buddy.”

  Kevin went into the living room and curled up on the couch. His headache was gone, and he was asleep in minutes. Although he slept alone, it was the best night of sleep he’d gotten in months.

  * * *

  Kevin stepped through the side door to find the kitchen filled with the mouth-watering aroma of bacon and pork chops. His first thought was that Neil had gotten off work early and was frying up something to eat, but instead Kevin found the possum at the stove, a spatula gripped in his tiny right paw.

  “What’s going on?” Kevin asked.

  Fred used the spatula to transfer three strips of sizzling bacon to a plate lined with paper towels to soak up the excess grease. “I just figured you’d be hungry after a long day at work, so I decided to make you a little dinner.”

  “That’s awfully nice of you.”

  “Got pork chops, bacon, and some scrambled eggs.”

  “Traditionally breakfast foods, but still good.”

  “I can never keep human eating habits straight,” Fred said, carrying plates heaped high to the table. “I hope it’s suitable.”

  “Smells divine,” Kevin said, taking a seat and digging in. “And I am certainly starving.”

  The bacon was crisp and flavorful, the eggs mixed with gooey cheese, and the pork chops coated with tangy barbecue sauce. Kevin stuffed his face without thought of manners or etiquette; sauce dribbled down his chin, he licked his fingers noisily, and he talked with his mouth full.

  “Aren’t you going to have any?”

  Fred shook his head. “I’ve already eaten.”

  “Well, this really hits the spot. Of course, I’ll have to make something for Neil before he gets home.”

  “Why? Is he crippled in some way that prevents him from making his own dinner?”

  Kevin found this particularly funny, and bits of egg sputtered from his mouth as he laughed. “No, but since I get home before he does…”

  “Home from a hard day at work, right?”

  “Well, I don’t know about hard. I mostly just sit there all day, waiting for customers to show up. Some days they do, most days they don’t.”

  Fred tilted his head, his eyes sympathetic. “Business not exactly booming, huh?”

  “No, I thought the antique store was such a good idea when I first came up with it. It was something the town didn’t have, and I thought the wealthier citizens would flock to it.”

  “Didn’t turn out that way?”

  “Not at all. Most of the time, we’re operating in the red. Neil thinks I should just go out of business, and I’m beginning to agree with him.”

  “What about your painting?”

  Kevin’s head jerked up, his tongue poking out to absently lick away some barbecue sauce. “How did you know I like to paint?”

  “I have my ways,” Fred said with a small smile. “When’s the last time you took up the brush?”

  Kevin sighed, pushing away his plate. “Almost a year. I just never have the time. Or the energy, for that matter.”

  “It used to be a source of great joy for you,” Fred said, a statement not a question.

  Kevin smiled, his eyes growing misty with memory. “Oh yeah. Nothing made me happier than putting paint to canvas and creating something from nothing. I favored nature scenes.”

  “What happened?”

  The mist cleared from Kevin’s eyes, and he said, “Life. Life happened. I just never seem to have the time for it. All my paintings are stacked up in the attic, collecting dust.”

  “Why don’t you take it up again? Talent like yours shouldn’t go to waste.”

  “I don’t know. I mean, I don’t even have a space anymore.”

  “What about the store?”

  “What?”

  “The store. You said you’re just sitting there, right? Why not use that time to get some painting done. That way, you’re time won’t be completely wasted.”

  “You know, that’s not a bad idea,” Kevin said, taking his dirty dishes to the sink. “Fred, I think that might just work.”

  Kevin turned back toward the table, but Fred was gone. Back behind the refrigerator no doubt, leaving Kevin alone in the kitchen. He glanced at the dirty dishes, knowing he should probably wash them before Neil got home, but he decided they could wait. He wanted to hurry up to the attic and look over his canvases.

  * * *

  Kevin rushed into the kitchen, hoping to find Fred waiting for him, but instead Neil was sitting at the table, sipping coffee and reading over the paper. He glanced up at Kevin and said, “Why are you in such a hurry?”

  “What are you doing home so early?” Kevin asked, eyes darting toward the refrigerator.

  “Gave an exam in my afternoon class, and I left as soon as everyone was done.”

  “I didn’t see your car.”

  “Damn thing wouldn’t start. I had it towed to Randolph’s Garage, and I caught a ride home with one of my students.”

  “Oh, really? Which one?”

  “What difference does it make?” Neil asked, frowning into his coffee cup.

  Kevin shrugged, hovering near the refrigerator, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

  “What’s wrong with you?” Neil asked. “You’re dancing around like you have to use the bathroom or something.”

  Kevin did have news he was dying to share, but he wanted to share it with Fred. But he knew Fred wouldn’t come out while Neil was around—he wasn’t sure why that was, but he knew it to be true—and Kevin was just bursting with the need to tell.

  “I sold a painting today,” Kevin said in a breathless rush, feelin
g a bit lightheaded with joy.

  “Great,” Neil said with a decided lack of interest. “Which one?”

  “The one of the wheat field with the mountain range in the background, the one I painted during our vacation out west.”

  Neil looked up then, focusing for the first time on his partner. “Are you talking about one of your paintings?”

  “Of course, silly, what did you think I was talking about?”

  “I assumed you were talking about something from the store. Who bought one of your paintings?”

  “Dr. Jenkins.”

  “Dr. Jenkins? You mean that rich old bastard that lives up on Heatty Hill?”

  “That’s the one.”

  “How did he even know about your paintings?”

  “Well, I’ve been using some of the downtime I have at the store to do a little painting. Dr. Jenkins came in last Friday and saw the piece I was working on. He said it was very skilled and wanted to know if I could bring some more in for him to look at. I did, and he ended up buying one. He said he had some friends who might be interested as well.”

  “Well, will wonders never cease,” Neil said with a snort. “How much did he pay for it?”

  “Four hundred dollars.”

  “What?” Neil said with an explosive laugh. “He must be senile to shell out that much dough for one of your paintings.”

  Kevin stiffened, immediately on the defensive. “And what’s so hard to believe about someone thinking my paintings are worth that much money?”

  “Hey, a thing is worth whatever someone is willing to pay for it, I guess. If you can convince some half-wit old coot to part with that much cash, more power to you.”

  “I really don’t understand you, Neil. You teach drama, for Christ’s sake; I’d think you of all people could appreciate the value of art.”

  “Come on now, I’d hardly call your little doodlings art.”

  “I should have known better than to tell you about this,” Kevin said, rubbing furiously at his right temple, behind which another fierce migraine was being born. “You belittle everything I do, mock everything that’s important to me.”

  “Well, if you ever get some serious pursuits, let me know,” Neil said, turning back to the paper.

  In no mood to continue the conversation, Kevin stormed out of the kitchen. He spent the rest of the afternoon alone in the attic, choosing a selection of canvases to show Dr. Jenkins next week.

  * * *

  Later that night, after Neil began to snore into his pillow, Kevin slipped out of bed and made his way to the kitchen. He found Fred rummaging through the garbage can.

  “Oh, sorry,” Fred said, and Kevin thought he actually saw the possum blush. “Caught me red-handed. I was just feeling a bit peckish.”

  “You know,” Kevin said, “you’re welcome to help yourself to anything in the refrigerator.”

  “Not my kind of cuisine,” Fred said with a shake of his head. “I guess congratulations are in order.”

  “You heard?”

  “I was listening earlier when you told Neil about it.”

  Kevin’s face took on a stretched, pained look. “So I guess you also heard how he reacted.”

  “Don’t worry about that,” Fred said, motioning for Kevin to have a seat at the table. “He’s simply jealous of your talent. If Neil had any genuine talent, he wouldn’t be teaching drama, he’d be performing on the stage himself.”

  “Still, it wouldn’t kill him to be a little supportive.”

  “Let’s not focus on Neil. Don’t let him taint this accomplishment. Be proud of yourself; you’ve earned it.”

  “I believe I have you to thank.”

  “Me? Your talent is responsible for the sale.”

  “No, don’t minimize your hand in all this, Fred. This wouldn’t have happened without your encouragement. It’s been so long since I received that kind of support, I’d almost forgotten what it felt like.”

  Now Kevin was positive that the possum was blushing. “Stop it,” Fred said, suddenly seeming shy and awkward. “It’s easy to be encouraging of someone who deserves it. I think you’ve lost touch with what makes you special; you simply needed someone to come along and point it out.”

  “Who would have thought that someone would be a possum that lives behind my refrigerator?” Kevin said with a laugh.

  Fred fixed Kevin with a serious stare. Silence stretched out for several seconds before the possum said, “Kevin, you should be surrounding yourself with positive influences. You don’t need negativity in your life.”

  “Are you suggesting—”

  “I’m not suggesting anything,” Fred said quickly. “I just recommend you reevaluate your life. Keep what works, and throw out the rest.”

  “Sounds like sensible advice to me,” Kevin said and reached out, putting a hand over the animal’s paw. For the first time in years, he didn’t feel so alone.

  * * *

  Neil came home after a long day at school to find most of his clothes packed in suitcases and stacked in the front hallway.

  “What the fuck is this?” he asked as Kevin came down the hall, carrying a duffel bag bulging with more stuff.

  “You’re leaving,” Kevin said simply, his voice devoid of inflection.

  “Is that so? And where exactly am I going?”

  “Not my problem,” Kevin said, dropping the bag at Neil’s feet. “Hotel, your little boyfriend’s apartment or dorm room or whatever. I don’t really care.”

  “This is a joke, right?”

  “Do I look like I’m joking?”

  Neil was wearing a puzzled smile, but it gradually evaporated as he stared into his partner’s steely eyes. “You’re not seriously kicking me out of my own house?”

  “This is my house. My Aunt Nancy left it to me fifteen years ago.”

  “Yes, and for the past six years I’ve been helping pay the property tax and bills, not to mention upkeep.”

  “Fine, I’ll reimburse you. Just go.”

  “What the fuck is going on here?” Neil said, looking around as if the answer to his question could be found in the air. “What has brought this on all of a sudden?”

  “This isn’t sudden, Neil, and I think you know that. This has been coming for quite some time now. If anything, it’s long overdue.”

  “Kevin, we need to sit down and talk about this before we do something rash.”

  “We don’t talk anymore; we yell, we curse, we exchange insults. Maybe ‘something rash’ is exactly what we need to do.”

  “If you think I’m just—”

  “Look,” Kevin said, his expression softening. “I’m not laying all this at your feet. I take my share of the blame. This isn’t working, it hasn’t been working for years now. We’ve just been too…comfortable, I guess, to do anything about it. We make each miserable; neither of us should have to go on living that way.”

  “Are you saying you don’t love me anymore?”

  Kevin reached up a hand and rubbed at his temple; he was having another migraine, the worst he’d ever experienced. His vision around the edges actually seemed to be graying out, as if everything were being eclipsed by a dense fog. “No,” he finally answered. “I don’t think I do. Can you honestly say you still love me?”

  “Kevin,” Neil said, concern coloring his voice, “are you okay? You don’t look so hot.”

  Kevin could see Neil’s mouth moving, but he wasn’t really hearing the words. An intense pain sliced through his head like a knife blade. He cried out, clutching his head in his hands. His vision faded out and he felt himself toppling over. He thought Neil may have grabbed him to break his fall, but he couldn’t be sure. The world around him was swallowed by the pain, which grew large and all encompassing. A giant with an insatiable appetite that wouldn’t be satisfied until it had consumed everything in its path.

  There was nothing but the pain, then not even that.

  Then there was only darkness.

  * * *

  Kevin awoke
to find himself in hell.

  At least, he assumed it was hell. Where else would have walls painted such a queasy shade of puke-green? Where else would have such harsh lights that stabbed at the eyes like tiny luminescent blades? Where else would have beeping alien machinery attached to his body with tubes and wires?

  “Kevin? Kevin, are you awake?”

  Kevin turned his head, and there was Neil, sitting in an uncomfortable looking chair the same putrid green as the walls. Neil was in hell, too? Well, that seemed about right.

  “Kevin,” Neil said, placing a hand on Kevin’s arm. “You’re going to be okay?”

  “Where am I?” Kevin asked in a croak. His mouth was dry as a desert; he thought he could feel a sandstorm kicking up in there.

  “The hospital.”

  “What happened?”

  “You passed out. I called 911. Turns out you had a brain tumor.”

  “Brain tumor?”

  “Yeah, that’s why you were having all those headaches lately. They had to operate.”

  Kevin reached up and tentatively touched his head. It was smooth, shaven.

  “Don’t worry,” Neil said. “They think they caught it in time, got it all. Your prognosis is good. I’ll take care of you until you’re one hundred percent again.”

  Kevin looked at Neil. There was such compassion and sincerity shining in the other man’s eyes, and yet Kevin felt nothing for him. “Neil, about what we were discussing before I passed out—”

  “Don’t worry about that either. I know that wasn’t you talking; it was the tumor. The doctor said brain tumors can sometimes impair judgment and perception. I understand that you didn’t mean any of it.”

  “That’s what the doctor said?”

  “Yeah, he did. And I want you to know things are going to change at home. No more taking you for granted. This was a wake-up call for me. Made me realize just how important you are to me. I’m going to be a better man and a better partner, I swear it.”

  Neil leaned over and kissed Kevin softly on the lips. Kevin believed what Neil was telling him, but it meant nothing to him. Whatever feeling Kevin had once had for Neil was long gone. But how could he tell Neil this when Neil was so obviously genuine in his professions of love and change?