A Vagrant Story

by Paul Croasdell

  Those sounds dispersed, replaced by droning gurney wheels rolling on a concrete floor. The gurney moved faster in this place, as though safer to do so, or as though the doctor lacked a good excuse if caught down here.

  They stopped. A noise like rattling steel touched Henry’s ears. It sounded like steal rubbing off steel, an almost intolerable sound similar to metal floor grating. The rattling stopped along with the gurney‘s wheels. Suddenly a noise of groaning steel droned in Henry’s ears. It was like a heavy steel door opening right next to his head. Slowly, he felt the gurney roll forward until arriving at a total stop. Footfalls walked away. The heavy door slammed shut.

  There came a lonely silence, but not a total silence. Loud creaks, like those of churning pipes sounded above. They popped as though they’d crack open any second.

  Now more than ever Henry longed to tear the blanket off his face. The heat in the room was fierce and this cover did little to placate the issue. Though thinking on instinct alone, these emotions were good signs. At least now he could form the mental linguistics required to want the blanket removed. At least he could feel fear again, and feel the burning heat enough to hate it. These were the first of his restored senses. By time he became aware of himself he’d fallen off the gurney. Crawling on the ground like a mole in day time, he slipped on his glasses in the hope his double vision would cease.

  The room continued to wobble in and out of double and single vision until hot steam shot straight into his face. It hit hard enough to straighten his sight to a stable single vision. Rubbing his eyes to be sure he found himself alone in a small room lined from ceiling to the walls in pipes.

  “The boiler room?” he spoke groggily, only then realising his location. It also dawned on him that the trip down here, together with returning to normal, might have taken a lot longer than it seemed to him. The doctor did say the effects would last a whole hour.

  He walked forward on jelly legs, winding around pipes that ran through the middle of the room. He slammed through the fire exit as though fleeing a collapsing mineshaft. He’d made it to the outside, to a laneway lined with snow. He found himself awash with sudden biting cold which almost sent him shivering to the ground. To his left, he saw the wall which should take him back to the main street

  Sparing no more thought, he dragged some storage crates up against it for climbing leverage. Everything the doctor promised turned out true. He was safe, he was free. He could keep running and never be found. He could be free.

  ***

  Rum, Alex, and Sierra had made near two runs around the hospital to no avail. Spirits low and bodies tired, they chose to rest in an elevator landing between stairwells.

  Evening drew closer. Snow outside the window fell like ash from an otherwise calm, if not clouded sky. There were twice as many people in the hospital now, and just a slight fading trace of hope.

  Sat on top of a stairwell, Rum began gloating as if distracted in his own private victory. “Hopeless … I told you guys it’d be hopeless. If only you listened to me first. I could be home by now.”

  Sierra paced around the room. “This can’t be all there is. They took him to this hospital I know it. This guy couldn’t have just disappeared. He could be in the next room for all we know!”

  “We already checked the next room. He’s gone.” Rum said.

  “Hate to say, but Rum may actually be right,” Alex said. “This was the nearest hospital so they would have brought him here by default. Once they get his insurance in order, then off he goes to a better hospital.”

  “We asked from the staff and the patients, Blondie,” Rum argued. “We’ve done everything we can do. It’s probably for the best anyway, saves us a lot more trouble.”

  Sierra thumped Rum over the head. “Shut the hell up, you could have gone home any time you wanted!”

  Rum pronged to his feet, grabbing her by the collar. “You’re right, I could have. Guess I spend too much time babysitting you.”

  Sierra clenched her fist, holding it up with the intention to strike.

  “Cut it out,“ Alex said. “We’ve stopped for a few minutes and you two are already at each other‘s throats. Look, we’re here anyway we might as well have another go around. Maybe we should try look at it from another angle. Maybe the guy in the fire wasn’t our guy. He might have just worked there. But Jack Matters might have come in as a guest, so why not check the guest list?”

  Sierra and Rum backed away from each other with plentiful hesitation.

  “You think this place keeps a guest list?” Sierra said, eying the deteriorating walls as if the décor spoke for itself.

  “I’m out of ideas then.”

  Rum began chuckling to himself, gradually growing louder until bursting into laughter. The joke appeared to have started as a private one between himself and himself but shortly pitched into something of an all out belly laugh. It sounded like a victorious, spiteful laugh.

  Even Alex had to scowl for his poor form. “That doesn’t mean we’re giving up yet.”

  Old Rum washed a phoney tear of joy away, holding up a piece of paper for them to see – the suicide note.

  Sierra snapped it back. “How the hell did you get that? You sneaky little git, you picked my pocket!” He didn’t stop laughing. “You think this is funny?”

  “Not that you little she-cow,” Rum said. “You messed up.”

  “The hell are you talking about?” She brushed over the note again.

  “Open your eyes, Blondie. The note says he went to see that Matters guy at his bookies. Did that place look like bookie to you?”

  “Well I … didn’t really see what it was like. It…”

  “Was a general goods store. You don’t keep books in a store like that.”

  “I doubt it‘s all that legal,” Sierra said.

  “It’d make terrible cover. Illegal gambling needs a place off the beaten track, a place people go in and out all day so not to draw attention. Come on Alex, your brain might be shot but you can figure these things out.”

  Alex pondered a moment. “The note did suggest the building would be something a little more shady. It also seems to imply this Jack Matters owns more than one building. It seems plausible we could have hit the wrong one.”

  “But then … what about the fire? What about the man you and Henry rescued?” Sierra said.

  “What about him?” Alex replied. “We rescued him. Nobody else would have so we can be glad we went a little off course. Time to resume I think.”

  “But!”

  “You want a reward or something, Blondie? You heard Alex, we don’t need the guy, let’s go.”

  “You know the old drunk’s just being a selfish git again!”

  “Well he can occasionally be helpful in his own selfish way. Whatever the case, it seems we‘ll have to look for our Mr Matters at one of his more frequented locations.”

  “And where’s that?” Sierra asked.

  “We’ll have to go look.”

  “Are you really sure about this?”

  “Surer than I’ll be scrambling around this place. We were getting nowhere anyway.”

  “I’d still like to see how he’s getting on.”

  “For a nice fat thank you, a big warm hug to make everything okay? There‘s nothing here, time to go. That guy‘s none of our business now. We’ve done anything we‘re going to.”

  “Let’s find Henry first,” Alex said.

  Rum groaned. “Oh come on, leave that dud here, he’ll only slow us down. I advise you listen to what I’m saying. I‘m the only one of us who seems to know what he‘s doing.”

  Alex placed a finger to chin in contemplation. “Let’s see, Henry was on the third floor … or was it the second? Maybe we should just check at reception.”

  “Or we can run around the hospital again, we’d be a lot faster,” Rum said, idling his way down the stairs.

  Alex followed closely behind, stopping in wait for Sierra. “You coming?”

  She stood staring int
o the note as if trying to solve a puzzle. “I … could have sworn that was our guy. I … are you sure about this, Alex?”

  “Don’t let it get to you. Hurry up or Rum will wander off and get lost.”

  There was little else to do except check at reception again. With any luck the clerk from earlier had been replaced by a more tolerant employee. Any hope for it became immediately squashed upon entering the reception area. Not only was the same receptionist still there, but a new bustle of people jammed the hall near wall to wall. The only sign of a queue was the horizontally moving streak of people jammed together in the centre. The receptionist herself fretted over her keyboard, typing near non-stop. Rum spared a moment to laugh at her misfortune before deciding to speak.

  “What is this, the Christmas rush?” he said. “It’ll be night before we get through this line.”

  From somewhere in the crowd a familiar voice started calling for Sierra and Alex. It came in the direction of the main entrance. It sounded like Henry, and from the brief glances they caught of him jumping up and down to grab their attention, it looked like him too. After stumbling his way through the bustle Henry came falling out the other side.

  “They let you out already?” Alex asked.

  “Yeah … sort of,” Henry replied.

  “I get it,” Rum said. “The doctor wouldn’t let you leave so you decided to sneak out. And check it out, looks like the rebel Henry robbed some fancy new clothes before taking off too.”

  “Well actually one of the doctors gave them to me since my old ones got damaged in the fire.”

  Sierra eyed Henry warily. “Okay so … why did you come in from the main door?”

  “I didn’t want anyone catching me so I thought it better to wait for you guys outside.” Henry laughed awkwardly. “What’s with all the questions anyway? Drop it already. So what are going to do now? I think we should leave.”

  That was enough to get them going. With Rum leading, they pushed through the remainder of the crowd until arriving back outside. When free, Rum halted like a captain relaying orders.

  “First order of business: we get the hell away from this place. Secondly, we have no idea what to do next.”

  “Shouldn’t we start looking for the shop from the note again?” Henry suggested.

  “Yeah about that,” Rum replied. “Blondie has something funny to tell you. You’ll love it - it’s a story that involves me being right and her being wrong.”

  Sierra scowled. “Don’t call me Blondie, prick.”

  Chapter 6

  The tramps continued their search in an idle sort of way, dawdling along a sidewalk checking directories and signs. They didn’t need to rush, mostly because they weren’t sure what they’d be rushing to find. Besides, day was fading fast and the wavering light lulled their spirits as a night lamp would a child.

  Henry broke into a brief coughing fit induced by exhaust smoke from all the cars on the main road beside them. The fumes merged with one another, foaming over curbs to the sidewalk. Today the road bore thrice the average number of cars. Christmas should always be busy but that wasn‘t the reason for the clog. In this case a snow plough was clearing the road, simultaneously forging a traffic jam in its rear.

  Forcing those coughs down, Henry ran to catch up with the others. “So … Sierra read the name wrong. That wasn’t the right shop.”

  “I read it wrong, but that shop had the same name. That’s pretty strange when you think about it. I suppose … if destiny led me to find the suicide note, then it makes sense the whole thing could have been fate as well.”

  “It was still the wrong place. I think if there’s some divine purpose in all this, God should double check his sights,” Henry added.

  “Here we go with that fate crap again. Blondie’s just making excuses for getting the name wrong. There ain’t no fate in this, Henry did all that for nothing. Guess you’ll think again before launching yourself into a burning building again. And having Alex bail you out after.”

  “I think, maybe I would have done it anyway,” Henry said.

  “Don’t listen to that old quack,” Sierra said. “Henry, whether it was the right place or not, what you did back there was still pretty brave.”

  “Pretty stupid more like.”

  “Shut up, Rum,” Sierra scolded. “You too Alex, you saved a man yesterday, both of you did. It would have been nice to find out who he was, even if it wasn’t the right guy.”

  “Of course Alex went in there, he’s a suicide waiting to happen. You wanted to die didn’t you? That’s why you went in there. Oh, but at least you knew what you were doing.” Rum pointed and waved his fist at Henry. “You on the other hand, that was just stupid! You can’t walk down the street without running out of breath! You really thought you could do something to help? You’re all just stupid.”

  Old Rum stormed on ahead. Henry simply eased his head down to hide disappointment.

  “Wow. It’s like he actually cares,” Sierra said.

  “You can tell?” Alex asked.

  “It took a while, but yeah.”

  The three of them watched on at the wise old man, who stumbled on in front a little bit. He stopped beside an open bin after something caught his eye. Plundering its contents, he pulled out a glass bottle. Slugging it back, he spoke back to them:

  “Whiskey. Nice.”

  To the average person the act might seem distasteful, but it really was a fringe form of consumer savings. That is, unless it turned out to be the wrong kind of yellow liquid.

  Sierra caught up to him and took the bottle with good intentions, much to Rum’s displeasure. He shrugged it off as though he’d taken his fill, or intended to retake it later, one way or the other.

  Car horns honked along the stretch. Impatient drivers were taking definitive action against the dreaded snowplough, shouting insults and waving fists. Few of them seemed to realise if the snow plough moved aside there’d be too much snow to travel.

  “I hate motorists,” Alex said. “Cars are too much hassle.”

  “How unusual,” Sierra said, “a writer who happens to be lazy and a know it all.”

  Alex motioned to counter with a quip of his own, but froze for an interruption.

  A crash sounded. Two nearby cars collided with one another. It looked like a rear hit, from bumper to bonnet. A few surrounding drivers got out to stare mindlessly at the scene, along with pedestrians on the sidewalk. Sierra and Rum pushed through the gathering crowd so they could see as well.

  Gags of coughing sounded from the struck vehicle. Through a haze of smoke, a woman climbed from her car and fell to the ground. She screamed on landing, cradling her chest for an invisible lesion. She bled from her head and a little from the mouth. But there was no greater wound to be seen.

  The motorist who crashed into her tried easing suffering with apologetic words. He scampered above her, ineptly calling for someone who could help. He made an attempt to rest her against the car, but jerked away as though dropping hot coal. She looked pregnant. At once his cries for help grew louder.

  In time a voice answered. A man came hurdling immobile cars until landing by their side. From the way he asked questions and clutched a small medical pack he seemed to be a doctor. His stereotypical white clothes added leverage to the observation.

  “It’s okay, I’m a doctor,” he said to the pregnant woman, loud enough for all to hear.

  The moment he touched her she convulsed into a fit. It might have been the fear, the amount of blood, or a blow to her head causing it. She shook tremendously so she came close to rolling over.

  “Damn,” the doctor said. “I can’t do anything like this.”

  The other driver peered down. “Should someone hold her steady?”

  “No. She obviously has some kind of internal injury. We can’t put pressure on it. We need her to calm down. In this state she’ll only injure her child.”

  Sierra watched on, nibbling on her thumb like a substitute for popcorn. “Poor woman … Poor ba
by. I hope she gets better.”

  Henry stood with a thoughtful frown. A slowly ticking timer counted down in his head. He might have an answer. He thought he had an answer. He could help. Slipping hands into pockets, he took out the medication he received earlier. One pill remained.

  He presented it to the doctor. “Would this help?”

  On his knees, the doctor gazed at the pill case like a gun to his head. He stopped in his work as though nothing was there.

  The doctor took the pill case, pouring it to his hand. “Those are … Where did you get these? Did a doctor give you this?”

  Henry nodded, unsure of himself. “When I was in hospital.”

  “You have to go back!”

  The woman kicked violently. The doctor addressed it by holding her arms down. He needed a clear shot to pop the pill in her mouth. Upon dropping it in, she settled within seconds. All the aggression faded and she lay there, eyes open, still blinking. Her pupils moved as though following movements she couldn’t make out. Those pills, whatever they were, had worked.

  Henry gulped. He remembered back to his experience on the gurney, what it was like for him and how she must feel now – fully conscious yet being unable to move. At the time he didn’t like being under the blanket, in darkness. Watching this woman try and make sense of her surroundings made him appreciate it more.

  Henry gulped a second time. “Why do I have to go back to the hospital?”

  The doctor worked hard to patch her up. “I think I got it,” he said. “I can look after her here but someone has to call an ambulance.”

  At once the crowd became active, lifting cell phones to call the same number.