Asylum

by Jason Sizemore

“I suggest we barricade these doors,” Gil said, his panic from earlier completely dissipated now, replaced by a clear and calm take-charge attitude.

  “Do you really think that’s necessary?” Lance asked.

  “Look, whether you believe we’re dealing with zombies or not, there are at least a hundred bodies out there trying to get in here. These doors are sturdy, but they’re not sturdy enough to withstand that kind of attack for a long period of time.”

  “I’m going to call 911 again,” Toby said, pulling his phone back out.

  Gil smirked. “You do that. Now does anyone want to help me do something useful?”

  “I will,” Curtis said. He had seen those things firsthand, and he was determined to keep them out of the club.

  Jarvis stepped forward. “Me, too. I’m not sure I completely believe there are zombies on the other side of those doors, but whatever they are, they obviously don’t want to sell us Girl Scout cookies.”

  Diva turned to Devon and said, “Run back upstairs and get the lights on.”

  Devon nodded and hurried back to the second floor without a word. It was only then that Curtis noticed that the strobe lights were still flashing on the dance floor, looking like heat lightning inside the club. Within a minute, the dark club was filled with an abundance of light, banishing all shadows. Curtis blinked and squinted until his eyes adjusted to the brightness.

  “Come on,” Gil said, walking over to the air hockey game. “Let’s move this over in front of the door by the restrooms.”

  Clive came over to help, and each of the four men took one of the corners. It was heavier than Curtis had expected, but they managed to get it across the floor and wedge it up against the door, turning it on its side so that it blocked the entire doorway.

  “I wish we could get one of the pool tables, but I doubt we’d be able to lug it down those narrow steps.”

  “What about the back entrance?” Curtis asked.

  “We’ll get some of the tables and make a barrier.”

  “I can’t get through,” Toby said, coming back around the bar. There were tears in his eyes. “I keep trying 911, and all I get is a busy signal.”

  After they barricaded the back entrance with several tables and chairs, Jarvis sat down at the bar and tried to avoid looking at the wide variety of bottles on the other side. He was approaching six months of sobriety, and every day was a struggle. On even the best of days, he felt that nagging itch that only booze could scratch, but in a stressful situation like this, the alcohol was practically calling out his name. They were old friends, after all. He and booze had first hooked up when Jarvis was fourteen, and by the time he was twenty-one, they’d entered into a torrid love affair. An affair that was passionate but ultimately destructive. Jarvis had lost his friends, his job, his lover. He’d sacrificed it all for the drink.

  It was only when Jarvis had almost died from alcohol poisoning after a particularly hard night of partying that he’d come to realize that the booze didn’t love him back. He’d broken things off, but the desire for the drink wasn’t so easy to fade. He thirsted for it the way a suffocating man thirsts for air. He hoped it would get easier the more time that passed, but the wounds of the breakup were still fresh, and some days he found himself driving out of his way to pass liquor stores, as if he were stalking the booze.

  “Are you okay?” Madam Diva asked, coming up next to Jarvis and placing a hand on his shoulder.

  Jarvis smiled. Diva knew about his problem, which was the only reason he’d agreed to work as a stripper here at Asylum. He knew she’d keep him away from the drink. “Temptation’s great, but I’m maintaining.”

  “Good boy.”

  “I think I’m just going to go somewhere away from the bar.”

  Diva turned her head to scan the small club. “Well, there’s only so much away in this place.”

  Jarvis laughed, cast another longing glance at the bottles behind the bar, and headed toward the restrooms. He knew it was probably exacerbating matters to be working at a club where the alcohol flowed so freely, but he needed the extra cash. Even with his Associate’s degree in Computer Technology, he found it impossible to find a job as an I/T guy. The drink had permanently tarnished his reputation after he’d shown up to work wasted and destroyed several hundred dollars’ worth of equipment. His former employer had agreed to let Jarvis pay off what he owed in installments, which kept him out of jail but made his financial situation even direr. The only job he could get was as a bookseller at a Books-A-Million, which barely paid enough for him to make ends meet. The money he got dancing at Asylum was all that was keeping him afloat. Those dollars stuffed in his G-string really added up.

  Jarvis pushed open the swinging door and walked into the men’s room. He didn’t need to go, he just wanted to put some distance between him and the booze. Even when the door swung shut behind him, he could still hear the alcohol whispering to him in a low, seductive voice. “Jarvis,” it seemed to say, “just one drink won’t hurt. You deserve it with all the shit that’s going on. It’ll take the edge off, calm you down enough to figure things out.” Jarvis knew it was all lies, but sometimes he wanted to be lied to.

  He wasn’t alone in the men’s room. The couple that had started all this—Curtis and Jimmy he believed their names were—were by one of the sinks. Jimmy was still out of it, hunched over and mumbling to himself while Curtis pressed a moistened wad of paper towels to the back of Jimmy’s neck. A red stain had blossomed on the paper towel, petals of blood spreading.

  “Is he okay?” Jarvis asked, stepping up to one of the other sinks and splashing water on his face.

  Curtis smiled and looked away. “Yeah, he just got cut on some glass when we were outside.”

  “Is it bad?”

  “It’s bleeding a lot, but it doesn’t seem that deep. He should be okay. Physically, at least.”

  Jarvis nodded. “So, do you really believe those are zombies outside?”

  He noticed Curtis flinch as if he’d been sucker-punched. “Yes, I do. Trust me, I don’t want to believe it. I’d love to convince myself I’m crazy, or maybe somebody slipped some hallucinogenic drug in my drink earlier and I was just imagining the whole thing. The last thing I want to believe is that we’re in some queer version of Night of the Living Dead, but like the bartender out there said: I know what I know.”

  “Well, I’ve known Gil for a little while now, and he always shoots it straight. I’ve never seen him frightened before, not even the night a bunch of straight bikers showed up and wanted to start some trouble. But he certainly lost his cool tonight.”

  “You would have too if you’d seen what’s outside those doors.”

  A shiver suddenly worked its way through Jarvis’s body, causing goose bumps to rise on his skin. He folded his arms across his chest, becoming self-consciously aware of the fact that he was practically naked.

  “Are you cold?” Curtis asked. “Do you want my jacket?”

  Jarvis hesitated for only a second. “Well, if you’re offering, that would be lovely, thanks.”

  “Don’t mention it.” Curtis removed his jacket and handed it to Jarvis. “Don’t you have anything else to wear?”

  “My clothes are in the booth out in the hall. I don’t think I’ll be getting to them anytime soon.”

  “Well, you can keep my jacket as long as you need.”

  “Smashing ensemble, don’t you think?” Jarvis said with a laugh, looking down at himself. He looked ridiculous in only a light windbreaker and his G-string thong.

  “Looks okay to me,” Curtis said then blushed, obviously tearing his eyes away from Jarvis’s package with great effort. Jarvis had a sudden revelation and thought the boy practically had the word “VIRGIN” tattooed on his forehead.

  “I dance here every Friday and Saturday night. Your friend looks familiar, but I don’t remember ever having seen you before.”

  “Oh, tonight was my first night here. My first night anywhere, really.”

  “How
old are you?”

  “Twenty.”

  “And you’ve never been to a gay club before?”

  Curtis smiled shyly, ducking his head down. “I’ve led kind of a sheltered life, I guess.”

  “Nothing wrong with that. Sometimes I think I’d be better off if my life had been a little more sheltered.”

  “Maybe we could switch lives sometime, although I doubt I’d look as good in that outfit as you do.”

  Jarvis and Curtis shared a laugh then stood just staring at one another. The moment drew out, something passing between them. Jarvis wasn’t sure what it was—this shy boy with his innocence and naïveté wasn’t at all the type Jarvis was usually attracted to—but it was something. The moment was broken when Jimmy suddenly looked up and said, “Why don’t you two get a room?”

  “Jimmy,” Curtis said, taking his friend by the head and looking him in the eyes. “Are you back?”

  “Guess I was sort of gone there for a bit there, wasn’t I? It’s not every day you see the guy you were just going down on get his insides ripped out. I needed a little time to process it all.”

  “How do you process something like that?” Jarvis asked.

  “With lots and lots of alcohol. I need a drink, several of them.”

  “Here, let me help you,” Curtis said, offering his shoulder for Jimmy to lean on. The boy with the wild blonde hair still seemed disoriented, though lucid, and he allowed his friend to help him along.

  As the two passed by Jarvis, Jimmy reached out, slapped the stripper on the ass, and said, “Don’t worry, big guy, we’re not a couple.”

  Curtis blushed again. “Jimmy, please don’t embarrass me.”

  “I’m just being a good friend. Even during the Apocalypse, I’m still trying to get you laid.”

  “I think I liked it better when you were catatonic.”

  Jarvis watched the two exit the bathroom, smiling to himself. He was intrigued by Curtis, and realized that for the duration of their conversation, he had forgotten all about the zombies outside and his desire for a drink.

  Madam Diva sat an entire bottle of vodka in front of Jimmy and said, “On the house,” with a wink.

  Jimmy took two glasses and started to pour, but Curtis put a hand over his and said, “None for me.”

  “Dude, you need to get over your Puritan tendencies. If ever there was a time to get staggeringly drunk, now is that time.”

  “I just think it’s important to keep our heads clear so we can figure a way out of this mess.”

  “The dead have arisen. I think logic and clear-headedness have pretty much flown out the window.”

  “I read this book one time,” Autumn said suddenly, “it was about zombies taking over the world.”

  “Autumn, not now,” Lance snapped. The two were sitting on the floor with their backs to the wall.

  “Let her talk if she wants,” Gil said from where he was standing guard by the front entrance. His words came out as more of a command than a suggestion.

  Autumn smiled at the bartender. “In the book, the zombies were actually demons that had inhabited the bodies of the recently dead. They were methodically clearing the planet of all life to make room for hell on Earth.”

  Lance snorted a derisive laugh. “That’s ridiculous.”

  “It was a pretty successful book from what I remember. Had a sequel.”

  “What happened?” Curtis asked. “What happened at the end of the books?”

  Autumn hesitated before saying, “Everybody died.”

  “Oh, that’s just great, Autumn,” Lance said, his voice rising. “Thanks for the pep talk, it really helped morale.”

  “Shut up,” Gil said. His voice was not loud but it carried a certain ring of authority that instantly made Lance do what he was told.

  The pounding at both doors continued unabated. Curtis didn’t know if these zombies were demons wearing dead bodies like hand-me-down clothing or not, but they were certainly persistent. He wondered if their numbers were continuing to swell. Even with the makeshift barricades, it was only a matter of time before they beat their way into the club, but he forced himself not to think about it.

  “I’m going to go check on Devon,” Diva said. Earlier the balding man had retreated upstairs, saying he wanted to be alone. He hadn’t come down since. Diva hurried up the stairs, calling the man’s name.

  Curtis turned to the mismatched couple—tall, skinny Clive and short, pudgy Toby—sitting at the far end of the bar near the dance floor. Toby had his cell phone to his ear. He’d been trying 911 every five minutes. So far he hadn’t managed to get back through to anyone.

  “So,” Curtis said, wanting to hear his own voice to keep his thoughts at bay, “are you guys together?”

  Clive smiled and put his arm around Toby, kissing the shorter man on the temple. “Yeah, four years now.”

  “I don’t know how I’ve managed to put up with you for so long,” Toby said with a lopsided grin.

  “What do you guys do?”

  “I’m a writer,” Clive said with just a touch of snobbishness. “Toby here is a documentary filmmaker.”

  “Actually, I’m a waiter who has been begging, borrowing, and stealing money for the past three years trying to finish my documentary.”

  “What’s it about?”

  “The desexualization of homosexuals in the media. People make a big deal about how gays are more represented these days in the movies and on television, but with the exception of that Showtime program where all the guys did was fuck, gay characters tend to be conspicuously asexual. We’re portrayed as clowns and buffoons with no libido and…and I’ve gotten up on my soapbox again, haven’t I?”

  “Yes, you certainly have,” Clive said. “But it’s your passion I fell in love with.”

  “You should dump that idea,” Jimmy said, drinking vodka straight from the bottle. “Sounds like a snoozer to me. You want an exciting topic for your documentary? Well, look right outside these doors, my friend. Homophobia among the undead.”

  Jimmy laughed, but he was the only one. Curtis thought everyone was trying hard to forget what was happening outside, but Jimmy brought it all crashing down like a lead weight.

  “The operator said it was happening everywhere,” Toby said, fingering his phone again.

  “Maybe we’re all that’s left, so I say we party right up ‘til the end.” Jimmy chugged the vodka.

  “How about you share some of that?” Lance said.

  Jimmy crossed over to where Lance and Autumn sat against the wall. He held out the bottle but snatched it away as Lance reached for it. “What’ll you give me for it?”

  Lance stared up at him, and a smile slowly spread across his face. “What do you want?”

  “Let’s negotiate,” Jimmy said, sitting down close to Lance.

  Typical, Curtis thought. Even in a situation like this, all Jimmy can think about it sex.

  Of course, Curtis’s mind kept turning toward Jarvis, and every time he thought about that chiseled body, Curtis found himself stiffening. Like now.

  “So what do you do?” Clive asked.

  “Jimmy and I are still in school.”

  “What are you studying?”

  Curtis opened his mouth to answer, and that was when the lights went out.

  Madam Diva came up into darkness. The upstairs lights hadn’t been turned on, and the light from downstairs couldn’t quite penetrate all the shadows that had gathered here. Like a shadow convention, she thought then laughed at herself.

  She made her way past the pool tables, heading across to the balcony. Voices drifted from downstairs, and she could hear Toby talking about his documentary. Diva smiled to herself, feeling a sudden well of affection for the man. Clive and Toby were two of her regulars, had been frequenting Asylum since she’d first opened the club three years ago. And Toby had been talking about that damn documentary as long as she’d known him. She had her doubts as to whether or not it would ever be completed, but she had to admire his pass
ion and his dedication to the project. She didn’t think there had ever been anything in her life that had inspired such passion.

  Of course, there was the club. Growing up a sissy that played with dolls and couldn’t catch a ball, Diva—formerly known as Gilbert—had always felt different. No one had understood her. Not her classmates, not her teachers, not her family. To her mother, she’d never been more than an enigma. And to her father, she’d been nothing more than a disappointment and a punching bag. She’d dropped out of school at sixteen and left home, taking work where she could as a female impersonator. That was how they billed her, as a “female impersonator.” The ironic thing was that, despite the piece of meat dangling between her legs, she felt she was a woman. All those years masquerading as a boy, that was when she’d been an impersonator.

  She’d developed a reputation among the better establishments in town, and soon she was in demand. A hot property, as one of the club owners had said. She saved up some money and decided to open her own club. A place for all those little sissy boys out there, the ones who felt different and alone. A place where they could come and not have to feel that way, at least for a few hours. A place where no one would call them names or judge them. Diva sometimes felt like Mother Hen, taking in all the world’s gay orphans and offering them protection. A safe haven. Asylum.

  And they needed it tonight more than ever.

  Diva reached the balcony and turned back, frowning. She knew Devon had come up here, but where was he? She walked back to the small booth, no larger than a closet, that housed all the equipment that worked the lights and the sound system. She knocked lightly on the door and thought she heard a soft whimpering from inside.

  Turning the knob, Diva opened the door and squinted into the darkness of the booth. She could just make out Devon, huddled on the floor with a pool cue across his lap. He was rocking back and forth, and tears streaked his cheeks. He was chewing on his bottom lip hard enough that he’d drawn blood.

  “Devon, what’s wrong?” Diva said, crouching next to him and placing a hand on his shoulder.

  He looked up at her with red, dazed eyes. “What’s wrong? Are you serious? You mean, other than the fact that the dead have come back to life and are trying to get in here so they can eat our brains or whatever? What’s wrong besides that?”