Living the Good Death

by Scott Baron

All right, she thought as she looked over her handiwork, I think that may actually be it. No time like the present to give it a try.

  She skimmed the book in her hand. The chapter heading read “Cross-Realm Transference,” and the pages bore a number of verses associated with specific glyphs and runes, depending on the reader’s wishes.

  Yeah, this looks right. I don’t think I missed anything. Time to get back where I belong and set things straight.

  She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, ignoring the antiseptic smell of her four-walled confinement as she concentrated. She then tried to focus on filling her lungs with air and the natural power that flowed through all things.

  Okay, here goes nothing.

  Chi, chakras, call it what you will, Dorothy felt her body build with energy, secretly hoping that it wasn’t all just in her head.

  Parting her lips, she quietly intoned a verse, slowly at first, then picking up speed as she focused on the diagram in front of her.

  “Eeanay Sudominey Vorghalisi Nictu,” she said, wrapping her mouth around the odd words with what she hoped was the correct pronunciation.

  A fine sheen of sweat began to form on her brow as she focused her will on the runes before her. The light flickered, once, but she kept focus, intoning the words over and over.

  With a flash, the lights flickered again and then went out entirely.

  Well, that’s something, she thought. But not what it was supposed to do.

  Meanwhile, down the now-darkened hall, the nurse on duty picked up the walkie-talkie on her desk with an exasperated sigh.

  “Get maintenance up here. That stupid fuse just blew again.”

  One of the orderlies poked his head into her station.

  “Again?” he asked.

  “Yup.”

  “Awesome. I sooo love working in the dark,” he muttered, sarcasm dripping from his lips.

  They shared a look of commiseration, then continued on with their work in the dim light of the emergency battery system. Back in her room Dorothy scanned her book intently, trying to figure out what could have gone wrong.

  The door to the pawn shop opened with a creak, the bell affixed to a spring bouncing a greeting chime as Randy strode in. The slightly dusty smell that permeated the cluttered space filled his nose, but not in an unpleasant way.

  The heavy-bearded pawn shop owner glanced up from his magazine as he sized up Randy for a moment, then rose to his feet to greet his client.

  “I remember you,” he said. “Blue watch fella, right?”

  “Good memory,” Randy replied, pulling the watch from his pocket in a little salute.

  “So,” said the older man, “was it as good a conversation piece as I told you it’d be?”

  “Better than you’d believe, actually,” he replied with a grin.

  “Glad it worked out for you. So, what brings you in today?” The man pushed up his sleeves in anticipation of another sale.

  “Well, I’ve got a special occasion and was hoping you might have…” His gaze fell upon the exact thing he’d been searching for, conveniently on the counter just past the pawn shop owner’s chair. A beautiful chess set, one that made his beater board look even more run-down than it was.

  The man smiled. “Want to take a closer look?” he asked, knowing the answer full well judging by his young customer’s face.

  In the cozy warmth of the diner later that night, Dorothy sat alone in their usual booth. She was a bit quiet, but that would be expected of someone who’d been through electro-shock therapy a few days prior. Otherwise, she seemed no worse for wear.

  She was wearing her usual black attire, but Angela noticed as she walked over, that her top was ever so slightly patterned with a deep red.

  Just a touch of color, but for a girl who only wore black, it was a start.

  “You feeling better, hon?” she asked, setting a cup of tea in front of Dorothy.

  “Yeah, thanks, Angie. I truly do appreciate your concern.”

  “You got it, kid. I’m just glad to see you feeling better. And happy, for that matter. You look like you finally got a little life in you. Suits you nicely.” She gave her young friend an affectionate squeeze on her shoulder as she meandered back to her other tables, flashing a smile and a little wave to Randy as he strolled in.

  “Hey, pretty lady, buy you a drink?” he said, sliding into the booth next to Dorothy. She felt her cheeks flush for an instant at the contact.

  “Hey, yourself,” she replied, smiling wide as she found herself savoring the warmth in his eyes. “Look, I’m really sorry I couldn’t make it the other night. Things were… um… complicated.”

  “No worries. Curtis told me all about it. Sorry you had to deal with such an ass of a landlord. Doesn’t matter, though, you’re here now. I’m just glad you could make it tonight.”

  She squeezed his arm affectionately. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

  “So, you up for a late movie?” he asked.

  “What did you have in mind?”

  The old revival theater had recently begun playing a series of late-night screenings on weekends, and this particular Friday provided Randy with a perfect date for the girl he liked.

  The girl who thought she was Death.

  The pair strolled out of the theater well past midnight, walking by the marquee that read, “Bergman Festival,” and below it, “Midnight Movie: The Seventh Seal.”

  Their fellow theatergoers filtered out, chattering about what a classic it was and how handsome and dashing Max Von Sydow was when he was young.

  “Oh, you always had a thing for Swedes,” they overheard one woman say to her gushing friend as they exited the theater.

  “But he was gorgeous,” her friend replied.

  Randy reached out and took Dorothy’s hand in his as they strolled down the sidewalk.

  “So?” he queried, pretty sure she liked it judging by the smile on her face. “What did you think?”

  She leaned closer to him affectionately.

  “It was wonderful, Randy. Thank you.”

  He smiled. Yes, this was going very well indeed.

  “You know,” he said, “I think the bald and brooding look could work for you, though the black robes might not be terribly flattering.”

  Dorothy laughed and smacked him playfully as she quoted one of Death’s many lines from the movie.

  “Det är ditt drag, Antonius Block!” she said in Swedish.

  He looked at her, surprised.

  “It’s your move, Antonius Block,” she clarified. “From the film.”

  He continued to look at her incredulously. She spoke Swedish?

  Dorothy just smiled innocently. “What?” she deadpanned as they continued to the bus stop.

  They arrived at Randy’s apartment shortly thereafter.

  Randy found himself all thumbs, momentarily awkward as he was about to invite a woman into his home for the first time in years. He clumsily dug his keys from his pocket and opened the door, stepping inside and holding it open for his guest.

  “Please, come in,” he said. “No, wait, it’s only vampires you have to invite in, right?”

  She shook her head with a chuckle and stepped into his home.

  Laid out on the coffee table by his couch was an unlit candle, two crystal glasses, an unopened bottle of wine, and, much to her surprise, a beautiful chess set.

  “Oh, Randy, that’s gorgeous,” she gushed, appreciating the board now that she’d finally seen the Bergman flick. The whole concept of Death playing a game of chess with a knight for his immortal soul was a beautiful story to her, and she appreciated the effort he was making to connect, but not make fun of her in so doing.

  “Well, I thought you might want to try your hand at a game.”

  “All right,” she replied. “You’ve inspired me.”

  “Oh, have I now?” he murmured, a warm look in his eye.

  “More than you realize,” she answered, returning the look. A tingle and flush had begun to warm her belly,
as if a small blaze had started to kindle there. A small blaze that was starting to grow.

  He studied her for a moment longer, not attempting to hide the affection in his eyes, but rather, letting her see his unguarded intent.

  She blushed and felt the fire in her belly flare even more.

  “Where’s your restroom?”

  “Right down there.”

  “Thank you. I’ll be back in a minute,” she said as she stepped out of the room.

  He popped the cork from the bottle of wine and poured two glasses to let them breathe a bit. That task done, he stepped into his kitchen, pausing at the sink to splash some cold water on his face, his pulse racing and cheeks aglow.

  Just across the apartment, Dorothy stood quietly in the bathroom, leaning forward on the cool porcelain sink, bracing herself against its soothing chill as she studied herself in the mirror.

  What is going on with me?

  She lightly ran her fingers across her face, gently touching her lips. Her cheeks had an uncharacteristic flush of color in them, and even though she was simply looking at herself, she couldn’t help but notice how her eyes flashed and sparked, alive in the moment.

  Okay, get a grip. Take a breath.

  She splashed cool water on her face, paused to recompose herself, then stepped back out to the man she had finally, much to her surprise, realized she very well might be falling for.

  Hours had flown by, and the bottle of wine was long gone. Whether it was very late, or very early, was a matter of opinion at that hour.

  Dorothy and Randy sat close, curled up on the couch as they both studied the chessboard in front of them. It was vacant many of its pieces, and Dorothy was poised for victory. A quick learner, that one. She gave him a mischievous glance, eyebrow raised in a dare, then moved her bishop.

  “Checkmate.”

  He studied the board for a moment and smiled in amazement at her prowess. “Indeed it is.” The flush in her cheeks and flash in her eye made his heart skip a beat, and he knew it was time.

  Randy leaned over and kissed her tenderly.

  Dorothy felt her heart race at his touch, her whole body flush with adrenaline and warmth. He caressed her cheek and held her gaze, then slid back to his seat, reaching over and knocking his king over, conceding the game.

  “Congratulations, that’s three straight. You killed me again. You win.”

  No sooner had the words left his mouth than they snapped her out of what had been such a perfect moment as if she’d been struck by a terrible blow.

  Dorothy felt tears well in her eyes as emotions ran rampant through her slender frame.

  “I… I can’t—” she sputtered. “I’ll kill you… I—”

  “Dorothy, look, I didn’t meant to—”

  She cut him off and rushed for the door.

  “No!” she sobbed. “I’m not meant to—I just can’t.”

  “Wait!” he cried after her. “I didn’t mean—I’m sorry!” But it was too late. She’d dashed out the door and was already gone.

  “Shit, what have I done?” Randy wondered as he closed the door. “Fuck!” He turned and stormed into his kitchen, hoping to find another bottle of wine to dull his emotions.

  CHAPTER 24

  Dorothy jumped off the bus near Camview Psychiatric Hospital and took off running down the street. The sky was rapidly getting lighter by the minute, and she was painfully aware just how late she was getting back.

  Too late.

  Shit, what was I thinking? Stupid, stupid!

  Dorothy was so distracted that she didn’t even notice Doctor Vaughan as he exited the artisan coffee and donut shop across the street.

  He normally wouldn’t have been anywhere near his hospital at this hour, let alone on a weekend, but the board wanted to review several files the following week, so he had headed in very early this particular Saturday to get on top of his financial reports before the board found anything else to bitch about.

  He took his first sip of his scalding-hot coffee of the morning. Impressive, though not as good as my home brew. Well, it will have to suffice. His attention shifted to a young woman rushing down the opposite sidewalk. What the hell? He was shocked by an unexpected and unmistakable sight. There, plain as day, was Dorothy Maitland, hurrying by across the street.

  She was outside of Camview’s walls. Again.

  Vaughan froze in his steps for a moment, then took off at a brisk walk in pursuit, pausing briefly to curse as he spilled hot coffee on himself, which only served to anger him more, while giving his mental ward troublemaker a greater lead.

  Doctor Vaughan weaved through the few pedestrians on the street, keeping an eye on her as she fled. A half a block ahead, she rounded the corner into an alley. He quickly hustled across the street after her, but when he finally turned the corner, drawing a deep breath of the fetid air as he primed his lungs to yell for her to stop, he was quite surprised to find no one there.

  The Camview early risers were quietly eating breakfast, unaware of the drama unfolding just outside their walls. The frenetic energy of the nuthouse was dialed down several levels as the normally gregarious bunch wiped sleep from their eyes and sat down for their morning oatmeal and anti-psychotics (with a nice tranquilizer for good measure for the more troublesome ones).

  Curtis had a place saved for Dorothy, but her seat remained empty. He knew she had gone out to see Randy the night before without him, but had felt secure that she’d be just fine without him there just this once. Now that she wasn’t safely seated across from him, he wasn’t so sure.

  He craned his neck and scanned the room anxiously.

  “Maybe I’d better go wake Miss Sleepyhead up. Wouldn’t want her to miss out on such a particularly lovely batch of oatmeal.”

  For some reason, this particular morning was not a good one for former delivery driver-turned-paranoid-delusional Donald T. Elliot, and his anger control issues were coming back in force.

  “That’s bullshit!” he spewed, a red flush quickly rising to his oily face. “Why does she get to sleep in whenever she wants? Is she better than us? Is that it? That’s bullshit!” He was starting to rev up into full-swing angry mode.

  Curtis tried to calm him as best he could. “Hey, Don, it’s no big deal. Just chill out man. It’s all good.”

  “All good?” He spun on Curtis. “Chill out? How the hell can I chill out when she gets special treatment?” he railed on, drops of spittle flying as his temper rose.

  “Oh my God!” Stein shrieked, horrified as he scooted to the far end of the table. “You spit when you yell. That’s how Ebola spreads!”

  “He doesn’t have Ebola, Stein,” Curtis quickly tried to calm the panicked germaphobe, before he had two raving lunatics to deal with instead of just one.

  “Screw this. I’m telling Doctor Vaughan!”

  Donald tried to rise but Curtis locked a hand around his arm and pulled him back into his seat, quietly but very firmly. Don tugged futilely, and was about to lay into Curtis, but he saw an unfamiliar look in the perpetually cheerful man’s eye.

  One that unsettled him ever so slightly.

  That uncertain pause was all Curtis needed to seal the deal.

  Like a parent bribing a child, he took his beloved pudding cup and offered it up as a sacrifice in the name of peace and quiet.

  “Look,” he began “there’s no need for you to get all riled up. Here, you can have my pudding, okay? I know you like pudding, and I’m going to give you mine, but you have to promise to chill out, and shut up, all right?”

  He waved the sweet treat in front of Donald’s face. Indecision flashed across the angry man’s face, options weighed, a choice being made. Finally he snatched the pudding cup and sat back down with a grumble.

  “Thank you, Donald. Wise choice. Now you just sit quietly and enjoy that.” Curtis rose and headed for the hallway.

  “Back in a minute, Beckman. You mind keeping an eye on my food?” He called back over his shoulder. The OCD accountant nodded a
nd went back to counting the vowels on a magazine page as he shoveled cereal into his mouth.

  Curtis tried his best to look perfectly calm, which was certainly not his usual state of being, pretending he wasn’t up to anything, which likewise, was also not his usual state of being. With a quick stride, he made his way quickly down the hall to Dorothy’s room. Looking both ways to be sure he wasn’t being observed, he cracked open her door and poked his head inside.

  No one home.

  “Oh no,” he said to himself quietly. “This is not good.”

  He spun on his heel and hurried back to the cafeteria, hoping to see his friend’s face there when he arrived back.

  No such luck.

  Sitting anxiously in his seat, his leg bounced an anxious staccato while he played with his food, unable to eat, his nervous eyes glancing back to the doorway every few seconds.

  “Come on, Dorothy, where are you?”

  The majority of the breakfast crowd had filtered in, but still, she was not there.

  The door at the far end flung open, and Doctor Vaughan, a dark coffee stain across his pants, his face red from his rush to Camview, strode into the room and gazed across the motley group with laser intensity. Curtis watched with dread as Vaughan waved Stan over. The vein on the side of his head was visibly throbbing, Curtis noted, pounding so hard he could see it even from across the room as he barked commands to his lackey.

  “Oh, now this really isn’t good,” Curtis muttered, desperately worried about his friend.

  Beckman had been droning on, though Curtis had tuned him out, but the incessant mumbling had finally driven Stein a bit mad. More so than usual. The man wouldn’t shut up.

  “…but the deduction parameters are somewhat vague, what with the cost of the balloon being in question, but still, the Wizard could clearly deduct—”

  “Oh, shut up!” Stein blurted. “I don’t care about fantasy tax deductions! None of us care! The Wizard of Oz is just a stupid movie, you socially inept git. It’s not real!”

  Beckman looked horribly offended, and in a rare outburst of carbohydrate sacrifice, he threw his half-eaten muffin at Stein, bouncing it off his face. A few crumbs lingered, stuck to the germaphobe’s otherwise immaculately clean skin.