The narrow streak of light sickly flickered, then widened. Johnathan blinked and opened his eyes. Slowly turning his head, ignoring the immediate pain that followed, he looked at the clock. Five o'clock. He slept almost twenty four hours straight.
Wearily rubbing his hand across his face, Johnathan deeply inhaled. It still seemed that he didn't have enough air, but the effect was slowly wearing away. Carefully standing up, he slowly walked over to the kitchen. Almost jerking the handle off, Johnathan filled his cupped hands with water and abruptly splashed into his face. The cold water completely obliterated what was left of somnolence. Johnathan shook his head, trying to fix his thoughts. Pressing his hands into the counter, water dripping from his wet hair, Johnathan stared into the grey sink. Something was nagging him. Something very important, something he had to remember. And then it hit him.
Johnathan abruptly straightened out and quickly walked into his cabinet. Feverishly flipping through the different sketches and formulas, Johnathan took out the one with the recent work and stared at it. This variation was the one. His hand aimlessly raised up to his head and dropped again. He did it. An effective chemical that would suck the fear out of its victim's mind, transforming it into a virtual reality. Driven by impulse, Johnathan victoriously slammed the table with his hand, setting a few of his pages flying on the floor. Johnathan straightened out, feeling an extreme elevation. Still a little in a haze from the drug, he walked back to the kitchen and poured himself what was left of the whiskey. Damn that it doesn't mix with fentanyl...
Johnathan threw the empty bottle into the trash and glanced into the refrigerator. Not much. Not enough for dinner even. Sighing, Johnathan closed the door and grabbed his keys and jacket.
The walk to the local store was refreshing. Johnathan didn't take much, just a few eggs for an omelette, milk, a bottle of vodka, canned tuna fish, and black bread. Only one line was open and of course, the line took up half the store. Impatiently standing after a small brunette in a pink sports bra, Johnathan looked at the newspaper stands to kill time. The magazines were as usual all about, perhaps, year-old gossip. The line slightly moved forward, and Johnathan kicked his basket forward.
"Crane?"
Johnathan turned around in surprise. Dr. Collins was standing behind him, studying him in interest. Johnathan had to give it to him; he never wore a shaggy jacket over a sweater. But it was also quite something to see your mentor in jeans, homemade vest, and sandals.
"Good afternoon, Dr. Collins," Johnathan politely greeted him, shoving the basket to the right on the way.
"Afternoon, Johnathan. Daily chores I see?"
Johnathan shortly smiled, not answering to the question. His eyes fell on Collins's basket, filled up to the edges.
"One of the disadvantages of having a wife," the doctor chuckled, following the intern's gaze. Johnathan's eyes flickered back on the doctor.
"So," Collins's eyes slightly narrowed. "Where have you been yesterday? You missed an important surgery on the spinal cord."
"I'm sorry, I wasn't feeling up to it," Johnathan hastily lowered his eyes. He forgot completely.
"Yes, Evangeline told me," Collins thoughtfully studied Johnathan's face for any emotion. Johnathan answered with a calm, indifferent expression. The doctor sighed.
"What about your dissertation? Thinking about it these days?" He changed the topic. Johnathan picked his basket up and placed it one the counter in front of the clerk.
"Yes, sir. Fear and its effects on the mind. It's more interesting to perform on humans, but for now I'll test animals."
"And how are you going to study that?" Collins skeptically stretched. "Jump out from the bushes and shout 'Boo' to the squirrel?"
Johnathan's lips twitched in a smile as he handed the clerk cash. Even though his mentor's humor usually irritated him, today it was quite fitting.
"No, but I have my methods. No receipt please, thank you."
"Well then," Collins shrugged and heaved his heavy basket on the countertop.
"Good luck. I expect you to be at the hospital for the morning shift."
"Yes sir. Till then, sir."
My dear Freddie,
You won't at all like my job. It is, you can say, completely out of your taste. But it's okay.
Nothing changed here. Same old trees. Not really, actually; Gorgeous green leaves adorn them now. Alright, so nothing changed here except the trees.
Someone knocked into the door, and Heath warningly held up his hand.
You can't believe it, but Johnathan almost went nuts on his chemical. While testing it. So as you can see, I literally have no one to talk to. Do come from Maine. Please.
Your poor disobedient friend,
Heath
Heath finished his last stroke and turned around in his chair.
"Come in," he politely invited the visitors. Halifax tumbled in, drenched from head to foot. He stumbled over a stool, grabbed a beam next to him, but the latter, proving to be too shaggy for support, crashed under him. Heath, glancing at the cursing man in his side vision, calmly carried the letter to its shelf and placed it on top of the first one. Then, he turned around.
"Good night, Mr. Halifax. What brings you here?"
The bloodshot eyes rose up from their dark rims and bushy eyebrows. He slowly stood up and made a few steps forward.
"I've heard you have fentanyl," Halifax rasped, fingers spasmodically clenching in abrupt movements. Heath slightly raised his eyebrows and kicked a stool towards him.
"Sit down, Mr. Halifax." The man staggered towards the stool and collapsed down onto it. Heath meanwhile lit a cigarette and inhaled in the smoke.
"So," he dragged over another stool towards Halifax and sat down across him, folding his hands in front. Halifax's eyes stopped at the cigarette, positioned between the middle and ring fingers.
"I don't have fentanyl," Heath quietly said, smoke rolling off his lips, and watching Halifax's wild eyes. They flickered back on his face. Then, he abruptly stood up and staggered to the door.
"But it depends on the price of course." Heath's quiet voice made Halifax freeze in the doorway. He slowly turned around.
"Price?" Halifax repeated in a coarse voice. He was quiet for a moment, studying the young man, then walked up and sat back down again. Heath took in another inhale and held the smoke in his mouth, feeling it cool down inside.
"Hundred," Halifax proposed. Heath reclined back, passing his hand over the air in refusal.
"Out of the question," he lowered the cigarette from his mouth, exhaling out smoke. Halifax grimaced and fell silent, suspiciously looking at the young man
"How much?" He finally inquired. Heath indifferently shrugged, gesturing with his hand, as if indicating the obvious.
"One fifty."
"One fifty?!" The stool went flying across the room when Halifax sprang up on his feet. Amusement and hatred distorted his already wry face.
"This is highway robbery!"
"Double crossing, aren't you, Mr. Halifax," Heath pointed the cigarette on him. Halifax slightly twitched.
"Richie doesn't know that you're buying fentanyl not for the gang. Or were you so kind to inform him?"
Halifax spat down on the floor and fell back onto the stool. His face occasionally jerked, teeth gritting more often than ever. Heath didn't hurry him; standing up, he walked over and leaned on the doorway, looking at the pattering rain. It mercilessly pounded on the pines, breaking their twigs under its pressure. Heath heard the old boards creak as Halifax stood up and walked over to him. Heath slightly tilted his head to the side.
"Yes?"
"Fine," Halifax growled, teeth unpleasantly skidding over each other.
"But I'll have to get the money first." Heath slightly twitched his lips, unconcerned.
"How long?"
"Hour and half as max. My car isn't very far from here."
"Come back once you get it. I want this to be done today."
Halifax was about to go, when Heath stopped him with an outstretched arm.
"Fifty dollars, please. I assume you have fifty dollars on you?"
Halifax's hand jerked to the pocket with his wallet.
"What for?" Heath crookedly smiled.
"As interest. And for your silence and cooperation."
"Fuck you," Halifax breathed out, smashing the bill into Heath's open hand. The young man unperturbed tucked it inside his pocket. Halifax pushed by him, painfully hitting him on the shoulder. Heath waited he was out of earshot, then let his long held laughter roll out. Still chuckling, he walked back inside, tossing the paper bill into his partly demolished piggy bank. These addicts, so easy to be manipulated with. Now, he has two weeks of groceries covered. Heath sat down on the floor with a satisfied sigh and leaned against one of the beams. Looking to his side, he dragged over a small piece of wood, and, taking out his pocketknife, began carving on it. He had thousands of these small carvings, mostly of animals and plants. He couldn't carve out humans. Just couldn't get the proportions.
The hour and a half passed by very quickly. Heath was almost finished with his squirrel when Halifax's shadow stretched across the floor.
"Here," he scraped, thrusting a wad of money at Heath. "Choke yourself."
Heath calmly picked up the wad which plopped right next to him and quickly counted the bills.
"You're a man of your word, Mr. Halifax," he noticed, standing up and unnoticeably placing it into his broken piggy bank. Halifax didn't answer. Heath walked past him, putting his long coat on the way and gesturing the man to follow him.
The rain angrily greeted him; he immediately got soaked from the first step. Ignoring the rain's harsh pounding, Heath quickly led Halifax into the forest, taking devious and roundabout paths. They stopped at a lonely building. Halifax nervously looked around. The hospital's glum features shimmered somewhere beyond the trees.
"Where did you bring me?" Halifax suspiciously asked, taking a step towards Heath. The latter ignored his question, kneeling down to a small, crooked voice box banged to the building's wall. His finger automatically pressed the buttons 521. The dial tone was barely heard in the shattering rain, but then Johnathan's voice finally broke it.
"Yes?"
Heath eagerly jerked towards the box, shouting over the shower.
"Johnny! This is Heath! Open up!" The high pitched beeping was the answer. Heath hastily grabbed the door's handle and jerked it open, holding it out for Halifax. Inside it was dim, the one only lightbulb sickly flickering. An old, narrow staircase stretched before them. Heath immediately started up the stairs.
By the fifth floor, Halifax was completely worn out. Heath, used to the climb, spitefully chuckled to himself at the exhausted man on the staircase and looked around the narrow flight. There were three doors. The farthermost right was already open, waiting for him. Heath broadly grinned. The moment when Johnathan pretends that he doesn't care a damn for them and utterly fails.
"Wait here," he ordered Halifax. That one didn't answer. Not really caring for him, Heath ran into the small apartment, heading straight for the living room, which honestly looked like a cabinet.
"Johnathan!" He happily called, looking in. Strange, but he wasn't in the room.
"What do you want?" Johnathan calmly asked, appearing behind his back. Heath turned around, a wide smile painted on his face. The intern was rubbing a small cup with a towel, hands wet from water. Heath grinned.
"You medics use fentanyl for quick...uh, knockouts?"
"It's called anesthesia," Johnathan calmly corrected him. "But yes. Why?"
"I have a client," Heath lowered his voice, nodding somewhere behind Johnathan's back.
"He's waiting outside." Johnathan quickly glanced around, then handed the cup and towel to Heath.
"Here." Heath unwittingly began wiping it. Johnathan opened the cupboard and began searching through the numerous bottles and bags.
"There's a chair behind you, can you drag it over?" He ordered, not turning to look at Heath. That one shrugged and pulled over the chair's, indeed behind him, leg with his foot. Johnathan settled the chair next to him and stepped up on it, opening the upper doors.
"You keep your drugs that far?" Heath inquired, arching his head back.
"How much?" Johnathan asked, ignoring the question. Heath shrugged.
"Not much. Just enough to make him come back." Johnathan smirked and took out a bottle.
"Fentanyl, you say?" He asked, lifting his glasses to read the label on it.
"Yup." Crane stepped down off the chair and exchanged the cup, on the verge on being drilled through by Heath's intent rubbing, for the bottle.
"Here. You can take all of it, there's only like a third left. I have more in the hospital." Heath checked the label just in case: FENTANYL. Great.
"Mr. Halifax," he called, racing back out on the flight. Halifax already recovered, leaning on the rails and, like always, gritting his teeth. At the sight of Heath and the drug, his eyes shimmered in an unhealthy glimmer.
"Your fentanyl, sir," Heath handed the bottle to Halifax. "Keep it clear from Richie's notice. Good night."
Not waiting for Halifax's response, Heath turned around and closed the door behind him.
Originally, the apartment was for two people studying in the med school. But after Johnathan conducted a few experiments, the other roommate willingly moved out. Johnathan used this to his advantage, transforming the apartment under his standards, piling it with his books, lab equipment, chemicals, and his unique taste. Despite its peculiarity, Heath and Winnifred loved it. It was their second hang-over place, like the mill. Except it was better because there was a fridge in it.
When Heath closed the door behind him, Johnathan was already in the kitchen. He was washing dishes, glasses hanging on his T-shirt's collar and a Lucky Strike clutched between his teeth. Heath, quietly humming under his breath, lit a cigarette for himself as well and opened the refrigerator.
"Twinkle twinkle little star..." he softly sang to himself. His eyes took in the mostly empty shelves.
"And there's not a damn in bloody Scarecrow's bar," he finished, slamming the fridge shut. A lonely can of tuna fish and a bottle of year old vodka were in his hands. Heath sat down on the small, round table, placing the vodka and the van down. Johnathan, glancing at his friend's humble feast. Smirking, he tossed Heath a loaf of black bread. Heath thanked him with a nod and cut himself a slice. Plopping a piece of tuna on his bread, he took a large gulp of vodka, lowering the cigarette down in preparation. He immediately grimaced, almost dropping his Lucky Strike, and squinted his eyes from bitterness. Not opening his eyes, he sent in his tuna bread into his mouth. Five second passed in him hastily chewing his bread and fish. Then, he swallowed it and finally opened his eyes.
"Great," he breathed out and cut himself another slice. Johnathan turned off the faucet and, wiping his wet hands with the towel, sat down at the table. Heath handed him over the hand made sandwich and the bottle. Johnathan, thanking him with a nod, took a gulp of vodka, immediately eating the sandwich inhaling the smoke. While he was recovering, Heath disappeared in the adjacent room. A few moments later, he appeared again with a small chess board and a grey sack.
"Chess?" He asked, broadly grinning as Johnathan blinked a few times to get rid of the bitterness.
"Yes," Johnathan sighed, putting on his glasses. Heath sat down, moving the bread, can, and bottle to the side, and began placing the figurines from the sack on their squares. Johnathan, inhaling another dose of smoke, helped him, placing two black pawns onto his side.
"Drug business I see?" He noticed, exhaling out, and positioning his rook on the farthest corner.
"I don't like it." Heath thoughtfully looked at his king and queen, then switched them. Johnathan smirked, raising his eyebrows, but didn't say anything. He placed the final pawn on its square and leaned back, gesturing with his hand.
"Whites first."
"I know," Heath thoughtfully rubbed his chin with the side of his index finger, smoke puffing off the cigarette's tip. Then, he moved his knight to f3.
"You're next."
Johnathan quickly glanced over the board before making his move. For a while, they played in silence.
"Do you think about Freddie?" Heath asked, queen thoughtfully bobbling in between his fingers before knocking over the black bishop with his queen.
"Of course," Johnathan frowned, in return exchanging Heath's queen for his knight.
"What sort of question is that?"
"Well," Heath licked his lips, glumly observing his situation. His fingers unwittingly played with the exchanged black figures on the side.
"I mean, you usually talk about people as if they're empty space."
"Most of them are," Johnathan agreed, easily going out of Heath's check.
"The more you learn psychology, the more you understand this. But you guys aren't empty space. Even though I would've liked you to be."
"How come?" Heath asked, thoughtfully rubbing the top of his pawn over his lip, before placing it down on the next square. Johnathan shrugged.
"Don't take it too close to heart. It's just better for a scientist if he's alone."
"You have a point," Heath agreed, pointing at Johnathan with his black bishop. He sent another sandwich into his mouth.
"But it's too late for you, man. We're not letting you off the hook."
"I don't really want to. Anyway, you guys are not empty space, far from it."
"For example? Freddie, I mean," Heath quickly asked, glancing upwards at the intern. Johnathan frowned and leaned back, scenarios passing before his eyes.
"Well," he slowly said, cigarette moving up and down in his fingers.
"I can relax in her presence. Even though I generally don't like when there are people when I'm working."
Heath quietly smirked under his breath, hiding his eyes. He noticed how Johnathan's features softened when he started speaking about her. Oh Winnie. Only you can bring back our mad scientist back to planet Earth.
"Do you think about Freddie?" Johnathan asked out of an interest, making a fork to Heath. Heath quietly swore under his breath and moved his rook to the left.
"Every day."
Johnathan absentmindedly nodded, thinking about something of his own.
They sat until two in the morning. Their first game was a stalemate, the next two were wins, Heath and Johnathan winning subsequently. The rain ended by that time, allowing Johnathan to comfortably walk to the hospital and Heath to run back to the mill. There, he feverishly carved out little squirrels, crocodiles, and armadillos, until he willingly fell asleep at five o'clock.
A/N Nothing much to note on this chapter, just that Heath is doing very, very shady business and is quite sad! Thanks for reading!