5. So Naïve

David King grunted as he tugged on his wrench tighter and tighter, which was fastened to a pipe on the immense boiler in the basement of the Apple Inn, but couldn't budge it an inch. Frustrated, he released the wrench and kicked a metal toolbox on the floor then wiped beads of sweat from his forehead. He was in that steaming boiler room all day trying to relieve the growing pressure in that huge bulk of a machine, but he still couldn't seem to stabilize the boiler, at least not to his liking. It was his first day on the job, and as soon as he heard the louder than normal chugging of those machines even from his tiny maintenance office (actually it was more like a congested, murky closet than a room) that something wasn't right, and spent hours trying to fix the problem but failed.

"Shit," he complained. "There's only one thing left to do."

David packed up his materials and stepped toward the long ladder that led to the second floor, when out of the corner of his eye he saw something move behind the boiler.

"Hey," he said. "Who's there?"

No answer. David piped up a loose pipe from the floor and scanned the boilers slowly, inching his way between the two giant machines to the back of the room. As he neared the wall and peeked around the boiler, something lunged from a dark corner of the wall and scratched fiercely at his face. David instinctively stepped back and looked at it; it was a rat, a rat bigger than any other he'd seen; its cold dark eyes seemingly blood shot.

"You piece of," David said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out his folding knife. But in a flash, the rat burst between the boilers and slid into a small venting shaft to safety. David cursed again and put his knife away, then wiped the small trickle of blood from the cut he received.

"Looks like you win this one ratty," David said dropping the steel pipe. "Next time, I make you my pin cushion."

Once David reached the second floor a small walkie-talkie on his tool belt came to life.

"David," a man's static voice urged from the device. "I have another job for you. A guest needs the water checked in the bathroom, and the TV set is malfunctioning. The room number is,"

David unhooked the device and interrupted. "Mr. Chamberlain, I have to talk to you about the boiler."

For a moment there was no response, then the man replied. "Make it quick."

David trekked the hallways until he reached the owner's office, Mr. William Chamberlain. Inside the room was an old man whose white hair resided only on the sides of his head just above his ears. His aging, wrinkled and crusty face with its countless folds made his ever-existing scowl look even more bitter and tired than most his age. David entered the office.

"What is it?" Chamberlain said.

"The boiler," David said.

"Didn't you fix that already?"

"I can't, not in the state it's currently in. I was able to stabilize it a bit, but I need to shut it down so I can get deeper into it. You're going to have to tell everybody in the hotel that there won't be water for a couple of hours."

"Are you insane? Do you know the people we have in here? We have guests in the sweet, who expect to be able to take their bubble bath. What the hell do you think they're gonna say, when I tell them my maintenance man couldn't do his damn job, and they've got to wait till tomorrow morning for their bath?"

"Mr. Chamberlain, you have to shut that thing down. It's getting increasingly unstable, and it's very dangerous for you to just ignore a situation like this."

"Don't tell me how to do my goddamn job, you hear me?" Chamberlain crouched over his desk threateningly, like a lion about to pounce. "You're a fucking plumber, I'm the goddamn owner of this place, you will NOT tell me what to do. Do you understand me?"

David frowned and didn't respond.

"Now get your ass up to third floor, and do your fucking job, like you're supposed to. GET OUT."

David fumed to himself, muttering curses and kicking the wall as he approached the third floor suite. He contemplated scratching up Mr. Chamberlain's car with his folding knife after he went off duty, or maybe even sticking the old fart himself, put him out of everybody else's misery (especially his.) He knocked on the door to the suite and waited. After a few seconds the door opened, and a small child, around twelve years old, answered.

"Hello," the girl said. "Are you the handy man?"

"Yeah," David said in his deep, low and gruff voice.

"Good," the girl said, stepping aside to let him in.

"What's the problem?"

"The toilet isn't working right, and the TV is all fuzzy."

David walked into the bathroom and quickly scanned it, then opened the tank. He peered over his shoulder and noticed the girl was leaning against the doorway watching him innocently. David ignored her and continued working.

"My dad's a doctor," she said.

"Great," David in an uncaring tone.

"Or at least that's what the people he works with call him. I think he's more like a teacher, I think, cuz he works at the university. Doctors work at hospitals."

"Right."

"Do you have a diary?"

David didn't answer.

"Well, do you?"

"It's fixed," David said ignoring her question.

"Oh."

David walked over to the living room and turned on the television, lowering the volume and studying it. The girl sat on the bed and kicked her feet against it.

"Stop that."

"Stop what?"

"Stop kicking the bed."

"Why?"

"Because it's pissing me off, and I can't think."

She complied.

"My dad tells me to write in my diary, about my feelings and stuff," she said. "But it doesn't help me. I still feel lonely; it's just that now my feelings are on a paper. It doesn't change anything. I still think about my mom, and wonder where she is. Do you ever feel sad, but you feel like you can't talk to anyone about it, cuz it won't change anything anyway?"

Again David didn't answer.

"You don't talk a lot, do you? Are you one of those anti-soshmal people my dad works with? He says you people are,"

"Shut up," David growled as he turned towards her. "Just shut up, now."

The girl frowned and David went back to work.

"What's your name?" she asked.

David hesitated for awhile. "David."

"David. My name's Anna, you could call me Anne though if you want. Some people do."

"Fine."

David rapped the side of the television set and the smiling face of Raccoon City's renowned sportscaster and former college football hero, Greg Valentino, his pearly whites on display.

"There," David said. "Don't touch any of the wires back there. I reattached them using custom materials. There shouldn't be a problem as long as you don't mess with them."

"Thank you, David!" she said gleefully.

"Humph." David said as he walked towards the door.

"David?" she asked, stopping him from leaving.

"What?"

"I'm sorry if I bugged you," she said sadly. "My dad tells me I talk a lot, and adults don't like that, cuz they aren't used to sharing personal things like I do. I just haven't had a lot of friends, and I get lonely."

David stood in the doorway. "I don't have a lot of friends either. You should write in your diary more. It helps, but it takes a long time."

David closed the door behind him as Anna thought for a minute, then picked up her diary from the desk at the back of the room and began writing.

Today I met a man named David.