Brainstorm (THE BLOOD-DIMMED TIDE Book 1)

by Jeff Siamon

  The station was crowded. Only in reverse from the morning. The steady press of riders was now coming out of the station instead of going in. Connie stood just inside the exit doors as if he were waiting for someone. Scanning the faces of the departing with an eager expression so as not to appear too conspicuous. Especially when a pair of officers came through the exit turnstiles and examined him professionally. Especially whenever he saw several people he knew from work.

  But after four cups of lukewarm coffee and a half dozen donuts from the Heavenly Aromas coffee shop near the ticket booth, plus nearly two hours of waiting, he hadn’t seen his dream girl. The coffee had managed to keep his eyes from closing, but all the donuts had accomplished was to give him a stomach ache. And during the wait time, he had plenty of examples to reaffirm his decision not to take the subway if he could help it. He didn’t want to end up looking like all the humorless, grey faces hurrying to get out of the building. The walking dead, he had mused until his musings produced a knot of anxiety. All those mysterious disappearances ─ where they now like the walking dead?

  His vigil ended when the clock in the building turned from 7:59 to 8:00. By then, all he saw were mostly tired looking shoppers lugging their purchased gains in company bags. His leg had begun to throb as did his injured wrist. What a mess he was, he concluded as he left the subway building. Not the sort of a hero who was going to convince the authorities he was Earth’s savior.

  It had been a warm day despite the rain and the twilight hadn’t dissipated any of the heat. Walking out of the air-conditioned subway entrance, the warmth was a bit of a shock. He instantly began to sweat, feeling that anxiety people have who are really cold climate persons. There was a cab waiting to pick up fares in front of the entrance so it was a relief to get inside the cool taxi. So much so that when the cabbie asked him where he was going, his words didn’t penetrate the comfort he was feeling.

  “Hey, mister?” Connie heard the man on his fourth try. “Where to?”

  He gave the man his address. Then amended that by telling him first to go to the plaza he had intended to go to when the SUV had struck his car. He’d sleep better he knew ─ if waking up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat could be called sleep ─ with some real food in his stomach.

  36

  If he had learned anything throughout all his episodes and invasions, it was to face them calmly. Even waking up from his nightly nightmares, he had been able these last few nights to quickly calm his racing heart. When he entered his apartment building and saw Evie sitting on one of the chairs in the lobby, he greeted her without any surprise in his voice.

  “You’re a long way from home.”

  “Hi Connie.” She stood up and took a few hesitant steps towards him.

  He wasn’t prepared to give her a smile. Not yet. He was glad his hands were occupied. He could put off any hugs. Awkward or otherwise. However as each stared at the other, surprise eventually shoved aside his calmness. “What’re you doing here?”

  “Can I help you?” She put out her hands, preferring the offer rather than a direct answer to his question.

  “That’s okay.” His good arm held onto the case with little Connie’s DNA. The other cradled a bag of Chinese takeout.

  “I missed you,” she told him.

  They waited through a moment that was not so much awkward as it was an attempt at reconciliation. More for Edie. Connie hadn’t decided how he should feel beyond surprise. Even though he had missed her, too.

  “How are you? We were all worried about you when Marlene said you were in the hospital.” She glanced at his cast. It peaked out of his shirt sleeve. “It’s a little hot for a long-sleeve shirt,” she added. “Isn’t it?”

  That was one thing she did that had always annoyed him. The way she had to have the last say. And that say usually came out as a slight criticism. His hair wasn’t brushed. His socks didn’t match. He had forgotten to shave. Inconsequential digs that he never knew how to take. As criticisms. Or as affectionate reminders. He still didn’t know.

  The silence lingered into awkwardness.

  “Is that your dinner?”

  “Yeah. Chinese food. I’m not sure there’s enough for ─”

  “That’s okay. I’ve eaten.”

  Decision time. That’s what Connie thought. They couldn’t keep standing there without either one of them taking the next step. He could tell by the way she looked at him that she thought it was up to him. She had done the begging by coming all the way out to the burbs to see him. (He knew what she thought of the burbs.)

  “It’s late,” she said deciding to take the initiative. “You just getting back from the hospital?”

  “Something like that. Do you want to come up?” Hell ─ he had to admit it ─ he was glad to see her. Her presence brought back some sense of normalcy.

  “Well, I didn’t come all this way just to say hello.”

  Again, there was the implied criticism in her voice. But that was just Evie, he thought. There was a lot more to her than that.

  “We could share this if you like. I’m not that hungry.” But he was.

  “No really, I’ve eaten. And you know what I think about Chinese.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Is my car going to be all right outside? I put it in the visitor parking.”

  “Oh, sure.”

  Decision time had passed but his legs were slow in getting the message. His injured thigh still throbbed. And the arm that cradled the bag was beginning to cramp.

  “Well, let’s go,” she said.

  He smiled at her. Finally. She smiled back as if ─ finally, too ─ that’s what she had been waiting for.

  They walked to the elevators. He pushed the “up” button. Then gave her another smile. Yes, he was beginning to warm up to the fact that she was here. That she had decided to make it up to him. She even offered to take little Connie’s case. And he let her.

  They waited. And while they waited he had time to consider her. She looked tired. Like she hadn’t been sleeping well. (He knew all about that.) He could tell the dark circles under her eyes weren’t makeup. And her pale skin wasn’t because she had been pining for him. Lack of sleep will do that to you, he thought.

  “How do you take it waiting for these elevators?”

  He shrugged. “Oh, you get used to that.” He shrugged off the criticism, too.

  The elevator ride gave him more time to think. Had she come back to him because she had missed him? Or was she missing Hal? Or Nabeel? Or whoever else she admired? Still, her coming to him was significant. She could have phoned if all she had wanted to do was to keep him hanging onto her.

  “This is it,” he said as he got out of the elevator.

  She followed him down the hall. “They sure keep these hallways dark.”

  “A couple of bulbs burnt out last week.”

  “Well, you should tell them about that. Nothing ever gets done unless you complain about it.”

  “Right. This is me.” He stopped in front of his door and unlocked it after a brief struggle to extract his key from his pants pocket. He pushed the door open and then braced it open with his body. He had learned the maneuver after the first time he had opened it, his arms full of grocery bags. The door wanted to shut with the ferocity of a sledge hammer.

  “Connie! What’ve you been doing? Throwing wild parties?”

  His apartment, of course, was a mess. The way he had left it when Vicky and he had gone to his bank. The Murphy bed unmade. Its covers more on the floor than on the mattress. Three of the four drawers underneath pulled out. Some of its contents spilling over its sides as if they had been trying to escape.

  “My god, Connie. It’s a good thing we’re still not living together. I couldn’t take this mess.”

  He surveyed the room with her eyes. “Yeah.”

  He put the bag of Chinese food on the table and glanced at the open bathroom door. The cloths he had used to slow the bleeding were hanging on the edge of the counter. The f
loor tiles below were pinkish wet. The blood-stained pants he had been wearing were on the floor in front of the counter. And that brought his attention back to the main room. To the tunic he had worn. It lay on the bed.

  Seeing it and the pants shocked his memory. He could suddenly appreciate how Vicky had felt. The sight. The memory of those episodes. Those invasions. They were all too much take in.

  “Connie, what are you thinking? You look like you’ve fallen into some kind of trance. If you want me to leave, just say so. I didn’t mean to criticize you. I mean, I know what bachelor living is like. I have a younger brother.”

  “No. Sorry.” He didn’t want her to leave. “It’s been a long day.”

  “Where do you want me to put this?” She meant the case in her hand. “Connie?”

  “Oh.” The question brought him back to the present. He had been trying to remember the blue-eyed maiden’s name. Haina or something.

  “Connie? Knock, knock. Anybody home?”

  “Oh, yes. Just put it by the table.”

  She did. With a smile ─ not so much of contempt, but more like a master’s smile to her subordinate ─ she gave the room another critical look. “Well, here we are,” she said at the end of her examination.

  “Yeah.” He knew what she was doing. The look. The smile. Putting him in the place she thought he belonged. But the look had the tone of familiarity. Something from the past. Before all hell had broken loose.

  “Listen, why don’t you sit down and eat your dinner and I’ll try to bring some sense of civilization to the room.” She waited for him to say something. Or do something.

  He waited, too. Still stuck somewhere between surprise and the hope that she really wanted to get back together.

  “Unless you don’t want me to.”

  “Yes, you’re right. I am hungry. But I can clean all this up.”

  “No, no. You sit. You look all done in. Honestly Connie, what have you been doing to yourself? How did you break your arm?”

  He was hungry. He took a fork out of a drawer and sat at the table. “It’s not my arm. It’s my wrist.”

  “Well, whatever.” She began to put the errant clothes back into the drawer. “How did you manage to do that?”

  “It’s a long story.” He began eating the noodle-like something from one of the containers.

  “It always is.”

  After she had put back all the drawers under the bed, she turned her attention to the sofa. It was covered with old newspapers, magazines and paperbacks. But as her vision swept past Connie, it returned to him. “Bachelors!” she said more to the room than to him. “Where do you keep your plates?”

  “Plates?” The food was tasteless but it seemed to be calming the cramps in his stomach.

  “Oh, never mind.” She opened several cupboards until she found where the dishes were kept. She took a plate and placed it in front of him. “You’ll find it’ll taste better on a plate.”

  He nodded. Then had to smile. This was Evie. Manager of everything. But her familiarity felt good. Comfortable. And that’s what he needed now.

  He used his fork to load up the plate with food from all three containers. He smiled to her back as she was tidying up the sofa. Definitely comfort. That’s what she brought him. And it helped, he thought with a sigh that was comfort, too. He used to always sigh when she was playing mother hen to him. Both because it annoyed him. And at the same time, made him feel like she cared about him.

  “Do you have something to put all this paper in?”

  “Under the sink,” he told her in between mouthfuls.

  “Do you want to throw out the magazines?”

  “Sure. Why not.” Since he had begun living alone, newspapers and magazines had taken the place of companionship. Of being connected to something other than himself. But the connection never went beyond the last page.

  “My god, Connie!” she shrieked. “What did you do to yourself?”

  He didn’t have to look up from his food to know what she meant. She was in the bathroom.

  “Are you all right?” Concern suppressed her natural air of criticism. She really did care about him. “What happened?” She was holding up his blood-stained pants.

  He looked at her. He looked at the pants. The anxiety in her voice touched him. Somebody cared. She did, he thought. Then suddenly all that he cared about came welling up in his eyes. Tears. Tears he couldn’t control. For Mai Lin’s body. The dream girl’s pleas. The woman on the bridge. The blue-eyed maiden. Their fears. Their sense of despair. He felt it all as if it were his own. His fears. His sense of despair. And now Evie with her concerned face. She offered the hope of an ally.

  “Connie.” She dropped the pants and went to him. The hand she placed on his shoulder was more than just a pat of comfort. With a caress, it said that she really loved him. “Have you been having those nightmares again?”

  He sniffed in his despair. Evie had been someone he could count on. Between the two of them, she had always been the fearless one. He’d tell her everything and maybe she could help figure out what to do next. That’s what he thought when he looked up into the smile on her face.

  “You know, Connie. Maybe you should just take something to help you sleep. Something to break the cycle of the bad dreams. You’re going to make yourself sick if you’re going to keep aggravating yourself. And I admit it. I shouldn’t have asked you to leave. I should’ve insisted you see a doctor. That’s what you needed. And seeing you now, that’s what you still need. First thing tomorrow, let’s get this thing under wraps. And this time, I won’t abandon you. We’ll see this thing through together. And I know just the doctor.”

  Her words made sense. Of course, they did. Just like Vicky’s. That’s what everyone would think. The obvious thing to do. Get medical help when emotions got the better of you. But that wasn’t the effect her words had on Connie. The common-sense sense they made dried up his tears. Hardened his hope into something like despair. Brought back that sensation of loneliness.

  She didn’t get any of this from the faraway look she saw in his eyes. She only noticed his tears. Endearing, really. To see a man express such emotion. She gave him a hug and went back into the bathroom to clean up. He went back to his food but his appetite had gone.

  “Do you have a mop?” she called out. He turned his face to the bathroom open doorway. She was on her hands and knees searching the cupboard below the sink. “Never mind. I found some rags. They’re dirty but they’ll do.”

  It took her several minutes to clean everything up. She washed the floor. Wiped down the sink and counter. Even did the toilet with the toilet brush. Connie remained at the table. He watched from time to time. Musing rather than having any serious thoughts. Reflecting on the past. His university days. His work at the company. The events and people he had known that had brought him to this moment. Watching Evie clean up his mess. Considering the remains of the Chinese food he couldn’t finish. And finally, wondering what was next on the Conrad Brinkley merry-go-round of craziness.

  “There!” she pronounced the word triumphantly. In her hands was a bundle of the soiled cloths and his blood-stained pants. “These are going right in the garbage.”

  She marched to the sink and opened the cupboard below. It was really a high-stepping march, he noted. Like she was the conquering hero.

  “Really, Connie. Where did you get these pants?” she put the bundle into the waste basket. “They look like bargain basement rejects.”

  “Yeah,” he said to himself.

  “Where did you cut yourself?”

  “It’s … it’s on my leg.”

  “Your leg! How did you do that? No ─ don’t tell me. Is it okay?”

  He nodded.

  “Well, anyway.” She looked around the room. “That’s a little better.” Then she shook her head. “Honestly Connie, I’m surprised you lasted this long without me.”

  He hadn’t. But it wasn’t because of her. He didn’t have a comeback, something he would have no
rmally tried to do.

  “Now.” She went to him. “Up you go. You need to get into bed. You need some TLC. And I’d say you need a lot of it.” Inertia and heavy eye lids kept him in his seat. “Come on. Up you go.” She pressured him to stand. “See that wasn’t very hard. Now over to the bed.”

  He let her lead him to the side of the bed. She began unbuttoning his shirt. “I can do that,” he told her.

  “No, no. This is my job.”

  He knew what she was doing. He had lived with her that long. She was offering him comfort. Her comfort. But he knew ─ sad as it made him feel ─ that he needed more than her comfort.

  She carefully took off his shirt. “Does your arm hurt?”

  “A little bit.”

  “Well, I’ll be gentle.” She began undoing his belt.

  He didn’t want her to see the bandage on his thigh, the size of which would elicit more questions than he had breath to answer. “I can do that.”

  “Modest, are we?”

  “No. I’m just tired. It’s been a … long day.” He walked around to the other side of the bed. Getting into it was a good idea. Not because Evie had suggested, he thought. He was able to figure that out all on his own.

  He sat on the bed and began removing his shoes. He had to admit to himself that if she hadn’t been here, he wouldn’t have bothered to remove his shoes much less any of his clothes. He was that tired.

  He removed his pants without standing up. Would have gotten into the bed under the covers except she stopped him by following him to his side of the bed. There she stood. Nothing on but her charm bracelet and the gold necklace with a Tiffany heart he had given her on her last birthday. He noted the necklace as much as he took in her nakedness. He didn’t want sex. Not at this moment. He needed sleep. To recharge whatever sleep would recharge. And if he was lucky or exhausted enough, maybe there wouldn’t be any dreams, and tomorrow he’d have the strength to deal with whatever was going to happen next.

  “Listen, Evie, I’m really bushed.”