by Elena Hearty
“Whoa. I’m not so sure I like that idea. What happens if she dies? If you finish her off you owe me.”
“I’ll just give you Charles if that happens,” Paul said amicably. “Calm down, Charles, I’m just kidding. Rich, do you have your cell phone on you? I can text you to come back if it looks like she isn’t going to make it. I think you’re right, though. I don’t think she’s going to die; she just needs to pound some Gatorade. I’ll watch her.”
Charles opened his mouth to speak, but Richard cut him off, sneering, “Wait. Let me guess what you’re going to say. Hang on, it‘s coming to me. ‘This is bullshit’, right? Am I right?”
Charles was silent.
“Okay,” Richard continued. “It looks like it’s just you and me tonight, so don’t piss me off. And if I hear one more thing about your slut girlfriend I swear to God I’m going to kill her. Paul, do you need anything before we go? You’ve got this?”
“Yeah, I’ve got it.”
Lenore heard the sound of the two men shuffling out of the kitchen, and then the front door opened and shut, and then the deadbolts turned. It was freezing in there. Paul removed his jacket and hung it around her back.
“Hey, you,” he said softly, taking a seat in front of her. “How are you feeling? I need you to finish this bottle of Gatorade and then I’m getting you another one. Then you need to go to bed.”
She looked up at him and weakly shook her head. “I don’t feel like drinking. I feel like I’m going to throw up.”
“Well, your whole system‘s off. It’s going to get worse if you don‘t drink. Just take a few sips.”
She did.
“Easy does it. Remember a few weeks ago at the diner when you referred to the waitress as ‘crackhead chic’? You look just like that. You should see yourself.” He smiled.
“Am I dying?” she asked, shivering.
“I don’t think so. If you wake up tomorrow morning you’re going to be fine. You could probably use some sugar, though. Where does Rich keep your Toaster Pastries?”
“Pantry,” she replied, pointing.
“Take another drink,” he said, walking over. He studied the container on his way back. “What the fuck is riboflavin? No wonder you’re all fucked up. Back in my day, we didn’t pump ourselves full of all these chemicals. You’d get a loaf of bread and it was just flour and sugar and water. Now there’s all this shit with Yellow Number Five. No wonder everyone’s got cancer.” He opened the foil wrapper and handed her a pastry. “Just take a bite. That’s it. Chew. Excellent. Now take another sip of Gatorade.”
“If I start to get worse are you going to kill me?” she asked, too groggy to be afraid, just curious.
“I don’t think you’re going to get any worse. If you do, you’ll pass out and won’t have any idea who pulled the plug.”
“That might be nice.” She closed her eyes again, picturing it, letting the sleepiness overcome her.
Paul shook his head back and forth. “Heeey, let’s not talk like that. And don’t tempt me. You look particularly yummy when you’re all sick and helpless like this. You need to take another drink. I need to see you finish that entire bottle.”
He watched in silence as she took several belabored sips from the container, stopping occasionally to rest her head against the table. After several minutes of this routine, the Toaster Pastry started to work its magic, enabling bolder sips as time went on. Soon, the bottle was empty.
Paul returned with another. “Finish this one too and it’s off to bed. You look better, though. You sound better, anyway.”
She nodded, and with growing alertness had started pondering the things Charles said to her before walking out the door. Rich is going to rip my eyes out. “I think I need to take some Xanax.”
“No, I think that’s a particularly bad idea right now. Take some in the morning.”
“Seriously, Paul. I’m starting to panic. I need something to take the edge off.” Rich is going to rip my eyes out.
“You know what? Panic. Go nuts. I’d love to see it. You’re always so doped up on that shit I’m curious to see what it’s protecting you from. Besides, you don’t take Xanax, the worst that’s going to happen is you panic. You do take it, and I’m not sure how it’ll affect your condition. It’s not worth it.”
"First off, that's ridiculous. You've seen me upset before. Second, I… can't function right now. I feel like I'm dying." Rich is going to rip my eyes out.
“You’re pretty damn close,” he said, giggling. “I’m kidding. You’re not really dying. I think you’re in the clear so long as you drink that bottle and get some sleep. So chill out. Doctor Paul says you‘re out of the woods.” He grinned. “But maybe Doctor Paul should stop drinking so much from you on our trips to the diner.”
Lenore unconsciously brought her hands to her eyes. Rich is going to rip my eyes out. “Paul, please.”
“I told you, you’re going to make it. What’s the matter?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“You on the rag?” Paul’s smile faded when he saw that she was starting to cry. “What’s the problem?” His eyes narrowed. “Shit. Did Charles say something to you? He did, didn’t he? I know he came by the kitchen, but Rich and I were talking about legal stuff, so I didn’t hear what he said. Whatever it was, he’s full of shit. Don’t let him get to you.”
“Rich is going to rip my eyes out.”
“That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “Charles told you that? You shouldn’t listen to him.”
She noticed that Paul was not smiling. “No, it’s true. He said I could ask you and you’d tell me it was true.”
“That he rips people’s eyes out?”
Lenore nodded tearfully.
Paul took a deep breath. “Lenore, I swear to God, he isn‘t going to rip your eyes out. Okay? I can’t fucking believe Charles told you that.”
“It’s true, though,” she said, looking for validation.
His response hinged on a long uncomfortable silence. “It’s true,” he whispered. His eyes knit with frustrated compassion. “Look, I won’t let that happen to you. And it’s not like he does that every time. I can’t imagine he’d do it to someone he knows. Shit. I’m going to get your pills. Where are they?”
Between tears, Lenore told him they were on her nightstand.
When he returned he handed the bottle to her, saying, “I guess if these kill you it’ll look like an accident. I’ve got my story straight, at least.” She chewed four, letting the bitter powder dissolve under her tongue.
Minutes later, she had stopped crying.
“Are you better now?” Paul asked.
“Yeah. Charles suggested I take the whole thing,” she said, caressing the bottle. “It’s not like that hasn’t occurred to me off and on since I came here, but after the eye comment I’ll have to give it more thought.”
Paul ran his hands over his face. “Don’t say that type of thing in front of me. I’ll be forced to take the bottle away. Rich is all weird about me getting you these pills for that very reason. If you kill yourself he doesn’t eat.” He touched the corner of his eye thoughtfully. “Listen, a couple of things, now that you’re calmer. First off, I'm not going to feed on you anymore. I shouldn't have been doing that in the first place, and I'm sorry. When I get you out of the apartment, we're just going to hang out as friends. Does that sound good to you?”
Lenore nodded.
“Second, you absolutely positively do not need to worry about Rich…messing with your eyes. I won’t let that happen, okay? Case closed?”
“I don’t think there’s anything you can do about it.”
“That’s where you’re wrong. When he takes you to the back room I can be there…I know that sounds bad…I wouldn’t—I wouldn’t join in or anything.”
She pictured Paul seated in a folding chair behind a pane of glass, attending a state execution. “I really wouldn’t want you there. I’ve been pretending you
’re my friend. It would mess that up to think you’re going to be there. I can‘t pretend that hard.”
Paul looked up at her. “Well, that’s serious business then. I’ve been pretending you’re my friend, too. I don’t have many, you know. Just you, Charles, and Rich. You’re the only people who know what I am.”
“Was Angela your friend?”
“You’d better believe it. I wish the whole thing with Angie had ended differently. I really do. I didn’t click with her the way that I click with you, though. I think we click, at least.”
“You haven’t known me that long. I’m pretty sure it’ll get old. I’m locked in a basement all day.”
“What? Like it hasn’t been getting old with Rich? I’ve known him for nearly 100 years now, and he’s pretty much locked in a basement all day himself.”
She shot him a wan smile. "So, of your two friends, besides me, one wants me dead and the other is going to kill me."
"One big, happy family, right? Charles is pretty much in the same boat, by the way—maybe even worse off. Rich wants him dead, and I'm sure you do too if I'm not mistaken."
“I wouldn’t exactly throw him a life preserver.”
“Yeah, he’s been acting out. I don’t know what to do with him. I’ve known him for twelve years, though. Makes it difficult. He came to me when he was only seventeen. Anyway, you’re Rich’s to kill—no doubt about that—and Charles is mine. He just doesn’t know it. Once you get involved with us, you don’t exactly die of natural causes.” He looked over at the wall, lost for several moments in silent preoccupation, before turning his attention to Lenore’s bottle of Gatorade. “This shit can’t be good for you either,” he said, shaking the bottle. “I’m going to get you some multivitamins. I‘m so out of touch. People back in my day never took vitamins. But they‘re good for you, right?”
“Yeah, I guess. Get me Flintstones vitamins.”
“What are those? Like, the cartoon show?”
“They’re vitamins, but they’re like candy. They’re awesome. Wasted on children.”
"Okay, I'll see what I can do. Now finish that drink and you need to go to bed. And take it easy for the next few days—no heavy lifting." When Lenore had emptied the second container, he walked her down the hall to her room and sat quietly at the edge of the bed until she fell asleep.
✽✽✽
After a long while, the door cracked open, jolting Lenore from fitful slumber. Through half closed eyes she saw Richard standing beside the bed, placing another bottle of Gatorade on her nightstand.
“Hey, I didn’t mean to wake you,” he breathed. “You feeling better?”
“Yeah,” she replied, shifting under the covers. “Did Paul leave already?”
“He left a little while ago.”
“Did you feed at the club?”
“Some. It wasn’t that bad. Easier than replacing you, that’s for sure. I could have done without Charles’s yapping all night, though. He’s really trying to kiss my ass over this new girl, and now that I‘ve met her, I can see why. He‘ll never pull anything like that down again. Bitch must need glasses…and a hearing aid. Anyway, he says he can bring me a supplement on Thursday. It isn’t going to help his case, but I won’t turn it down, either.”
She nodded. “What day is it? I lose track of time.”
“Sunday. Sunday morning.”
"That's five days. Are you going to go back to the club in the meantime?"
"I don't think so. I can make it for five days. I could make it for weeks, probably." He smiled. "You're the one who wouldn't make it. After a while, I wouldn't be able to stop myself from killing you." He looked at the floor uncomfortably. "So while we're on the subject, I want you to know something. It is not, nor has it ever, been my intention to rip your eyes out. I think when you first came here I said I'd make it quick and that hasn't changed. Paul told me you were really upset, and I thought you'd want to hear that from me firsthand."
God bless Paul. She lifted her head from the pillow and nodded, unsure of whether to thank Richard for his promise to murder her quickly. Had it come to this? Was she so resigned to being a victim that a painless death looked like a favor?
Richard continued. “And listen, I know you can take care of yourself, but Charles is a serious douchebag. Let me know if he harasses you again and I’ll take it up with Paul. It’s not like you’d be bothering me, either. I’m always looking for an excuse to get rid of him. Anything you could do to help my case would be appreciated.”
“Will do.” Wheels were turning.
“Great. Get some sleep and let me know if you need anything. It’s my fault that you got sick, so just say the word and I’ll come running.”
Chapter 7
The Laundry Room
Lenore spent the next two days sleeping, interrupted only by trips to the bathroom, swills of Gatorade, and some overzealous monitoring from Richard, who would open the door every few hours to peek in, waking her every time. On Monday night (at least she thought it was Monday), the door opened again, but this time Paul walked through, carrying a bottle of Flintstones vitamins.
Holding the container in his hands, he eyed the label with suspicion. “These are disgusting,” he said before handing them to Lenore, who had recently stirred to watch television.
“What is it with you and nutrition labels?” she asked, removing the plastic seal. “Food isn’t that bad for you, you know. Don’t you realize how much higher the life expectancy is these days compared to when you were born?”
“Hah. I guess so. Either way, I got you like three bottles of this stuff. The other two are in the kitchen. You have to chew six to get an adult dosage.”
She smiled at him with her eyes narrowed. “I think you just made that up.”
“So I did. So I did. That sounded plausible, though, didn’t it? I was thinking of telling you to grind them up and snort them, but I thought that might be too over the top.” He ran his fingers through his hair and whispered. “Hey, I shouldn’t have to tell you this, but stay away from Rich. He didn’t have too much to drink at the club on Saturday, and now he’s trying to make it ’till Thursday night. That’s a long time without food. I’ll be in an out, but stay in your room as much as you can.”
“You act like that’s a big change from what I normally do.”
“Well, the last few times I‘ve stopped by, you‘ve been out in the apartment. Don’t go to the kitchen. Bring all of your food in today. I’ll walk out with you to get it. No trips to the living room for coffee. Just hang out in here.”
“I CAN HEAR YOU IN THERE, FUCKHEADS,” rang out from the walls. “PAUL, STOP WHISPERING LIKE I CAN’T HEAR YOU.”
Paul slapped his hand to his forehead. “Fine, Rich, now shut up. Let me rephrase: Lenore, Big Brother wanted me to tell you to stay in your room for the next few days. He’ll stay away from you, you stay away from him. He‘d tell you himself, but he‘s already hungry.”
“THANKS, PAUL. NOW I NEED YOU TO LOOK OVER THESE PERMITS WITH ME.”
✽✽✽
The universe kept getting smaller.
Confined to her bedroom, Lenore busied herself with the antiquated video game systems that occupied the underbelly of Angela’s entertainment center (and took pills, lots of pills). As promised, Paul stopped by a few times, even joining her in a spirited game of Tetris on Wednesday night before heading off to fix someone’s air conditioning unit. Richard, for his part, kept his distance, but Lenore could hear him hungrily pace the halls at night, and at those times she would feel like the last feeder fish in a piranha tank.
Thursday came and the pacing got worse, taking on the alarming characteristic of long pauses outside her door before resuming course. During those moments, she would imagine Richard on the other side, fangs exposed, just waiting for her to slip up and start running. Where were Paul and Charles? The clock on the wall kept ticking, and the pauses grew longer and longer until Richard had stopped outside her door completely.
"Hey, Lenor
e. Hey, why don't you come out and wait with me? Charles should be by any minute. He said he'd be here around 10." The clock on the wall said 11:15.
No amount of Xanax would have stopped Lenore’s heart from pounding when she heard Richard speak, but she tried to sound calm. “That’s okay, Rich. I think I’ll just stay here. I’m going to bed.”
The door opened and revealed something that looked like a ravenous cat wearing a man's face. "Oh no, I insist. Why don't you come out and wait with me?" Richard's movements had adopted a predatory harmony with her own; when her head tilted, so did his; if she leaned left, he leaned right. Fangs.
This was tricky territory. If Lenore argued, Richard might use that as an excuse to kill her on the spot. “Rich, are you sure that’s a good idea?” she squeaked. “I thought you said we should stay away from each other.”
“It isn't going to help at this point. I can smell you. I can hear your heart. But I‘m not out of control yet. I’m so hungry, though. You have no idea. If I don’t have someone to talk to, I’m going to go nuts out there by myself. Please come out and talk to me. If I’d wanted to hurt you I would have done it by now.”
Richard’s words rang true, and even if they were not, the lockless door between them offered no protection.
“Okay, Rich. I’ll be out in a minute. Let me get dressed, though. I’m still in my pajamas.” Really, Lenore was stalling for time, and when Richard closed the door to give her some privacy she ambled out of bed slowly.
“Talk to me while you get dressed. Talk to me about anything.”
Lenore pulled on her jeans. “What do you think I have to talk about? You’ve got me locked in here all day. All I do is watch TV, read through your books.”
“I know, I know. Do you remember the first book you took from my library?”
“No. What was it?”
“It was the Lady or the Tiger.”
"Oh. Yeah, I do remember that, actually."
“So, which is it?”
“Which is what?”
“Did she pick the Lady or the Tiger?”
“I have a different take on that story, Rich. I think in an infinite universe -”