Chapter 5

I slipped carefully out of the theatre door into the entrance area. No one was in sight except for the bored young man at the desk, and I'd been the only one watching the movie. I slunk out of the building and started the long walk home.

My mood slumped as I walked. I'd enjoyed the half hour watching the two cyclists wriggle out of their lycra and fuck against a tree, and I got my own pleasure out of it. Now in the aftermath, I felt seedy, and even more lonely than I usually did. It reminded me of the time I took Betsy to a porn theatre. I didn't even get the chance to buy the tickets, before she realised what it was and walked out. Her outrage had surprised me at first, but when I thought about it, I felt like filth.

I shoved my hands into my pockets and sunk my face down into my raised collar. I only had one other option at the moment, and I sure as hell wasn't going to waste my money on a whore, which would result in me feeling worse than I did now.

I ducked into a corner shop and bought a couple of beers and some cigarettes. I hadn't smoked since before I went into Arkham, but now the desire returned. I smoked one slowly as I walked, inhaling and blowing the smoke out of my nose the way I always had. By the time I'd smoked half of it, I was lightheaded.

Back at the apartment, I drank one of the beers and put the other in the fridge for later. Then after a couple of coffees and a frozen dinner, I went out again, got in my new taxi, and went to work. The station and the cinema provided me with plenty of fares to keep me going until midnight. After that, the city was quiet, with not much action in the clubs or anywhere else. I called it a night and went home.

As I sipped my second beer and smoked another cigarette, I wrote some more in Dr Kane's journal. "I went to a porn theatre." I snorted as I wrote the words, wondering if it would shock her. I didn't add much to that, except that I hadn't enjoyed it as much as I expected. I switched to my own personal notebook and wrote the same things. I lit another cigarette from the smouldering butt of the first and added more words to the page.

"I still feel like shit. Why did I do that to myself? It's desperate and pathetic, the actions of a loser. I think I'll never have anyone to do that with. Who would want me? Even if I found someone who liked the way I look, if I was honest about the kind of person I am and what I've done, they'd run a mile. I can't blame them. I wouldn't want me."

"Fuck it." I tossed the notebook aside and slouched back on the couch cushions, blowing smoke towards the ceiling. What did all this self-analysing achieve anyway? It only made me dwell on how crap I was, and how pointless everything seemed. My life stretched in front of me, going through the motions, eating, smoking, driving a taxi, trying to sleep, and scaring the neighbours. I laughed hollowly and wondered yet again why the city services in New York bothered to save me.

A distant muffled laugh startled me, and I froze with the cigarette halfway to my mouth. The laugh came again from the other side of the wall—a wild, hysterical laugh that I knew was Arthur. It went on and on, until it was replaced by coughing. Then a loud thump on my wall as if it had been punched. The thump came again, and again. After a moment's silence, the laughing started back up.

I stubbed out the remains of the cigarette and got up. I wasn't sure what I intended to do, but I shoved my feet into my shoes, grabbed my keys, and let myself out into the corridor. The laughter was louder with only the apartment door to muffle it. I knocked and immediately the sound stopped.

"Hey, Arthur! You okay in there?" I called out.

Complete silence.

"It's me, Travis. I live next door to you. We met at Dr Kane's office?"

No reply.

"You need anything?" I felt like a fool standing outside his door calling to him through it. I glanced down the corridor to check no one was watching me, then reminded myself it was the middle of the night and the other neighbours were probably dead to the world. I waited another minute and knocked once more, but there was no answer. I turned away. Just as I reached my own door, I heard a key turn in a lock, and the rattle of a chain being taken off. I looked back over my shoulder as Arthur's door opened and he peered out.

"Travis?"

"Yeah."

I went back to him, shocked by his appearance. He was wearing only pyjama pants and a T-shirt, which emphasised how horribly underweight he was. His ribs were visible under the thin material, and his arms so fragile looking, they probably would have snapped like twigs without much impact. His hollow cheeks and lank hair made him look older than he probably was. I'd thought that before. He wrapped his arms around himself and avoided my gaze.

"Did something happen?" I asked.

"You heard, huh?" His voice was rough and croaky, as if the laughing had made his throat sore. "I'm sorry I disturbed you."

"You didn't. It's fine. What is it that makes you laugh?" I tried a guess. "Are you upset about something?"

Arthur barked with laughter, then put his hand over his mouth to muffle it. He closed his eyes, and tears squeezed out from beneath his eyelids, rolled down his cheeks, and dripped onto his T-shirt.

Shit. I didn't know how to deal with this. I usually avoided crying people, not that I'd had much experience of them. But I tried again. Something told me not to walk away. "You want someone to talk to?"

Thick wet lashes lifted, and his green eyes met mine. "Why would you want to involve yourself in this?"

I shrugged. "Dr Kane tells us to talk about it, doesn't she?"

"It doesn't help, though, does it?" He sighed. "She doesn't care. She's just earning her salary. She doesn't give a shit what happens to us when we leave that office." He cleared his throat and rubbed his hands over his cheeks. "Why do you have to see her?"

"I have shit to deal with. But we're talking about you." The last thing I wanted was to get drawn into talking about myself.

"Why did you cut your hair like that?" he asked.

The innocuous question caught me off guard. "Um, I thought it was a good idea at the time."

"Okay. Do you want to, um, do you want to come in for a, um, a c-coffee?"

"Sure. Coffee's good."

Arthur stepped aside to let me in, then closed and locked the door and put the chain back on. I found myself in a similar living room to mine, except this one was full of clutter. Every available surface was covered with things, apart from the couch which had a pillow and a folded blanket at one end of it.

"Do you mind if I smoke?" Arthur picked up a pack of cigarettes from the coffee table and shook one out.

"No. I started smoking today."

"You want one?" He offered me the pack and I took one. He flicked a lighter and offered it to me before he lit his own. "I'll just, um, sorry." He picked up the overflowing ashtray from the table and disappeared into the kitchen. I sat down and smoked while I waited for him to come back. A few minutes later he returned with two mugs held in one hand, the ashtray in the other, and the remains of the cigarette hanging from his lips.

I stood and took one of the mugs from him. The coffee was black and when I sipped it, sweet.

"I didn't know how you wanted it. I should have asked." Arthur hovered in front of me, eyes wide and anxious.

"It's fine. Black is fine." I sat down again.

Arthur shuffled around, seeming as if he didn't know what to do with himself. Eventually, he put the ashtray and his own coffee on the table, moved the blanket and pillow to the chair across the room, and sat next to me. He lit another cigarette from the butt of his first.

"You have a bad day or something?" I asked.

"Y-you could say that." He laughed, briefly this time. "My, um, my m-mother's in the hospital. She had a stroke." He ran a shaking hand through his hair, and his knees bounced.

"She lives here with you?"

"Yeah. That's why I sleep on the couch. There's only one bedroom."

"She gonna be okay?"

"I don't know. She's old and sick."

"How old are you?" I asked.

"Thirty-five. I look older, I know."

"They say stress can age you. You under a lot of stress, Arthur?"

"W-well, I c-care for my sick m-mother. Have done for years." He sucked hard on the cigarette and blew the smoke out of his nose the same way I did. "Do you live on your own?"

"Yes."

"Did you just move to the city?"

"No, I was in Arkham," I blurted before I could stop myself. What the hell?

Arthur turned to look at me. "Was it that bad? Whatever happened to you?"

"I was bad." Damn it, Travis, stop talking, I cursed myself.

Arthur nodded, accepting without asking anything else. "My mother was in there. For years, when I was a kid. I probably should have gone there, too." He absently scratched at his wrist, drawing my attention to a long pink scar. "Why did you knock on my door?"

"I don't know. I heard you and I wondered if you needed help. A friend, you know?"

"Yeah." He nodded slowly. "I could use a friend. What about you?"

"Me too. Can I have another one of these?" I indicated the cigarette pack.

"Yeah."

I took another. I'd wondered about him and thought about getting to know him. Now I had the chance, and it was clear his problems were much worse than mine. Maybe we could help each other.