Down
by wtfisaverage
Sam came back wrong. After two tours in Iraq, Ohio didn't make sense. Everything in Ohio was noisy and chaotic, but not in a way he understood. There were no schedules or commanders telling him where to go, what to do… who to be. Sam could shoot. He could break into any building and rescue civilians. He knew how to be a soldier. He accepted that to a select few he was a hero, but what he didn't know how to be was home. Once he got shot in the shoulder, the army pinned a star on him, packed him up and sent him back to Ohio.
It would've been fine if Sam had a family or an address. When Sam enlisted, he'd been 18 with an ID. There were no emergency contacts because there was no one to call. He'd been on his own since he was sixteen. He bunked with a few friends and stayed under the radar until he earned his diploma. The army was his only plan. He figured if he joined the army, he would belong to something. He would fight for his country and if he was lucky die for it. He never wanted to come back.
He didn't want to be this. A week had passed since he left the veterans army. His bandages were old and he was running out of cash. He had no more medication and had a slight fever. There wasn't enough money left for another night at the motel and whatever remained had to be used for food. He started walking and scoping the streets for places that looked warm and remotely accessible for the night. Passing an Italian restaurant, Sam saw a flier for a new exhibit at the local museum. It was a memorial exhibit for war veterans and entry was free for current and veteran National Reserve. Sam's interest peaked when he saw it was open until 9 pm which was late enough for him to find a hideout and sleep for the night inside the museum.
He changed into a hoodie and cap to look inconspicuous. His hair had grown past his ears and he had a slight beard. The worker at the ticket booth gave him a dubious glance, but allowed him in after a few moments of glaring at his ID and tags. The inside of the museum let him escape his worries for a bit. The fossils entranced him and the astronomy exhibit had him feeling like a starry-eyed, slightly feverish kid. It was light, fun, and informational. He was distracted and entertained by the videos feeding him facts. He burned to try the activity centers, but knew that would draw too much attention.
The WWI and II veterans' memorial was simple. It began as a hallway filled with mannequins dressed in uniform lined at attention on each side. Behind them black and white film images of war played.
They told him in the hospital to be careful of triggers. Certain sounds and images could send him mentally spiraling back to Iraq. He didn't feel that. The images of combat, the drawn faces of victims, the camaraderie between the soldiers, all of it made him sad. It grounded him deep into his reality. He was alone. He was alive and he had to live somehow. He went to the theater and sat for hours, letting the sounds of war lull him. Finally, when the crowds around him thinned and credits rolled on the last film, Sam ducked into a nearby closet. Once the museum closed, he went back to the veteran exhibit to a far corner where a life-sized dugout was built. Checking around, Sam didn't see any cameras. The museum still used the low tech noticeable ones that made sure people knew they were being watched. Crouching low like the children he'd seen earlier, Sam crawled inside using his good arm. With his legs tucked in for warmth and his back pack as a pillow, Sam fell asleep knowing the ghost of his brothers in arms kept him safe.
"I swear people are so nasty," Mercedes grumbled as she swept up the theater in the auditorium.
"Mercedes," her manager, Sarah, yelled down, "I'm going home for the night. Davis is here doing the night watch and he knows to look out for you. Please remember to lock up and do be extra careful to make sure the bathrooms are spotless. I heard a little boy had an accident earlier."
Rolling the eyes of her soul, Mercedes kept a straight face, managed a tight smile and said, "Sure, Sarah. No problem." Mercedes needed this job. It had taken a long time to get here and while being a night janitor was never in her plans, it was a step in the right direction. She needed the money and the stability. If she could show the state of Ohio she was responsible, maybe they'd let her see her son.
"Do not dwell, Mercedes," she ordered herself. "Just get through this shift and those bathrooms." Shuddering, she went to tackle the nastiness that was the museum at night.
On her break, she wandered through the museum looking at the exhibits. Her new favorite was the veterans' memorial. Being at the museum late at night, she had to entertain herself someway, so she flirted with the different mannequins.
"Well, hello Sergeant Johnson. You're looking well today," she greeted one. Giggling, she traipsed to another, huskily saying, "Corporal Mayes, I had a fantastic time the other night. We'll have to do that again sometime." Laughing at herself, she continued down the line until something caught her eye.
"What the hell," she mumbled to herself, walking towards the dugout. Mercedes could have sworn she saw a hand. Trying not to get too close in case Freddy, Jason or Dracula was in there, she leaned in and sure enough a hand was peeking out of the edge of the dugout. Not even contemplating getting down low to peek in, Mercedes went to the nearest closet and got a short ladder. Climbing up, she peeked over the edge and saw him.
He was dirty, scraggly, wounded and sleeping. He was balled up tight. His hair covered his face in oily, dirty strands. The hoodie had fallen from his wounded arm. She saw the filthy, brown bandage and could only imagine the infection spreading on that arm. Continuing her perusal, the dog tags around his neck let her know he was a soldier.
"Hey Mercedes," Davis the night security guard greeted her from the end of the hallway. Climbing down, Mercedes greeted the pot-bellied, balding brown man with bifocals.
"How are you, Davis?" she said, coming to stand in front of the dugout and blocking the exposed hand. She plied the guard with small talk as she frantically searched for an excuse to get Davis away from the sleeping soldier.
"Um, Davis," she asked, "do you mind walking me down to the basement for more bleach? I swear that basement's haunted, but I can't clean the bathrooms without it."
The old man agreed and the two made their way to the basement while Mercedes fought not to look back. When they came back upstairs and the guard left to finish his rounds, Mercedes ran to her locker. Grabbing her lunch bag and a few dollars, she went to the break room and the vending machine. Penning a quick note, she stuffed as much as she could inside the lunch bag and made her way back to the dugout. As quickly as possible, she bent down and pushed the bag inside the dugout. Then striving to put the soldier from her mind, she did the only thing she could do. She went back to work.
The security guard's whistling woke Sam. Even feverish and sweating, Sam didn't make a sound. He stayed as still as possible until the footsteps passed him and the hall was quiet for a few minutes. Stretching his body, he bumped into a lunch bag.
He began to sweat. He didn't want to open it. He didn't want it near him for so many reasons. Iraq taught him the most explosive bombs come in innocent packages. Baby carriages don't hold babies; they hold enough chemical to tear down a building. The lunch bag also let Sam know his location was exposed. Someone knew he was here. Someone invaded his space while he was vulnerable. His face was moist and dripping. Sam took deep breaths to calm down when he saw the note tucked into a side pocket.
The note read:
Hi,
I'm the night janitor here and I saw you sleeping. Please don't worry. I'm the only one who saw you and I won't tell anybody. I left you some food and Advil to help with your arm. I wouldn't sleep in the dugout too long. The gallery preservers come in first thing in the morning, but there's a bunk bed in the basement. It's in a room in the back. No one goes there but me. I left the key in the bag. Take care of yourself.
-M
Still a little wary, Sam unzipped the lunch bag. Reaching in, he grabbed the bottle of pain relievers and used his teeth to undo the cap. Dry swallowing three capsules, Sam used his good hand to explore the bag.
Whoever M is should have packed for me in Iraq, he thought pleased with the offerings. It wasn't much. It was only a few strips of jerky, almonds, a sandwich, fruit cups and trail mix, but it wouldn't spoil and it was high in protein. Feeling around the bottom of the bag, Sam found the key.
Hearing footsteps, Sam silently crouched low with his eyes on the opening.
"Come on, Miss Mercedes, I'll walk you out." Sam saw the security guard leading a young woman towards the door.
"Thank you, Davis," the curvaceous, brown woman replied. Sam couldn't see her face, but her voice was lovely. "You're a hero to all girl night janitors everywhere."
The old man cackled, "And how many do you know?"
She leaned in and kissed his cheek, "One so far. I guess that makes you my hero. Good night."
For a second, Sam glimpsed her. Her curly hair was pulled back into a ponytail that trailed down her back. She wore plain clothes, black sweater jacket, t-shirt and jeans with sneakers. Her eyes were big and she bit her lips.
As Sam allowed himself to fade into brief unconsciousness before he found the bed in the basement, he thought the army was right. Sometimes, angels do come to save you.
A/N: Practicing and getting some ideas out.