CHAPTER 5

His lonely time of consideration passed torturously slow. Dusk turned to night, and night to dawn. Even in the wee hours of the morning did not go to her. The caring murmur of her voice beckoned him in his mind but still he did not go. Her fluttering walls that could not echo sill seemed to reverberate her desire for his company. But still she chose to leave him to his thoughts however damaging they may be. All night she stared at the ceiling hoping to picture him more clearly; lying awake in bed, pacing in his living room or standing by a wall that had no window. It was too much so she pushed him from her thoughts and forgot him.

However, it surprised her none to see his forgotten face casting its dull glow down the stairs from the ninth floor when she pulled herself home after another late closing. "I pretended not to notice, you know," she said and took out her key. "But it is difficult to ignore when ones fee's simply disappear." He seemed uninterested.

"Would you let me had you known."

She interpreted this as a statement and agreed. "No love I would not have."

"It is still dark when you go to work, isn't it."

It surprised her how quickly he changed the subject. "Well yes…"

"Then you will permit me to walk with you in the morning," he stated then began to walk away.

"Yes love," she said to the fading figure. "Yes I will."

In the final dark hours of the morning he met her at her door and they began their fast paced journey. She wound her arm through his and held tightly to her had with her free hand. "There no need to be in such a hurry."

"There's something I need to take care of." His voice was far away.

She looked at him in slight wonder then all at once understood fully his intentions. "Oh good heavens, you're going to do it aren't you. You're absolutely mad." She looked at the ground in front of them then straightened her chin. "Well, I won't be part of it. Do what you like." Her words came too late. The boy stepped from the alley.

Her companion pushed past him into the alley to seek out his father first. She could hear him take the man's life with ease and if it were not for the exclamations from his son, the crime may have passed unnoticed to her. "Come on love," she said, offering her hand to him with a strange feeling of composure.

"Not yet." But she didn't hear him.

"What are you doing in there?" She was becoming uncomfortable and impatient.

"Please go on without me. Your way will be clear now… in a moment…"

"My God," she breathed, cupping her hand over her lips. At that she ran away down the sidewalk.

With his hand on the boy forehead, he pulled him to his chest, holding the knife still bloody from his first kill to his throat. "Your death will account for everything you have stolen, every life of pity, every woman ravaged by your father and led out of their good hearts by you. And so it is for the sake of your victims that I end your worthless life."

She could feel him die and all through her day of work she was afraid; afraid that someone may have seen what he had done and that he would not be safely in his room when she returned. And when she returned she went first to his door, opened it, and began searching for him. "Are you home love?" His silence aroused a slight nervousness in her. "Answer e please." The kitchen was empty, he was not in the shower, and until this moment she had not dared to enter his room but the silence pressed her on. "What are you doing in there love? Are you asleep?" It appeared to be so. She sat beside him and touched his hair lightly. Things like this would always wake him. He didn't stir. She felt an odd air about the room. "Love wake up I need to talk to you." She shook his arm but he gave not sign of awakening. Finding it impossible to gather what was wrong with him she stood and began to look about the room. Everything seemed to be in place. Nothing was disturbed. His skin was still warm. She picked up his hand to check his pulse, praying that it not be weak. But as she did this something slipped through his fingers so she retrieved it from the sheets where it had fallen. A small dark amber glass bottle stopped with a rubber cap dotted with syringe holes. She recognized it as a sleeping drug that was no longer legal or easy to obtain due to how easily it could endue an overdose. It was empty. Looking into the waste basket near his night table, she saw the syringe. For the second time that day she felt her skin go cold, her scalp tingle, and her fingertips go numb. There was no one to call for help. Medical assistance was a joke in this age. It had ceased becoming practical like a high maintenance fashion. Exclusive and well expensed people became good at caring for themselves. There was only one person whom she could remember that might help in this dilemma; a doctor that worked out of his home in a complex a few blocks away. She'd visited him once before for a burn on her hand. She looked at her friend one last time and felt him fading in her hands. "You fool. You reckless fool."

She rarely felt like crying and found it odd now that she did. Her friends were always dying though, always shrinking away or resigning themselves to be as distant from her as possible. None of them had kept contact for long; and how long had it been? Almost a month, she gathered, and in that time she's grown so accidentally dependant on his presence. She struck a match and let it drop to the sidewalk. She took out two and struck them together. They touched the ground before their flames failed them. She struck two again, this time letting them burn until the fire dared to touch her fingertips. Tears came to her eyes and she tossed the half empty box onto the grass then continued onward at a quicker pace.

With her fist tightened around the amber vile, she knocked on the doctor's door. There was a reply of footsteps then the door swung open and the tall figure of the doctor stood stooping down to look at her. "I think I remember you." He moved to allow her inside. "Yes, almost a year ago you came to me with a terrible burn on your hand." He smiled. "Do I need to scold you again for playing with matches?"

"No Sir." She shook her head then presented the amber vile to him at hams length. "I need something to counter an overdose of this. As you can see it's not for myself and I'm in quite a hurry."

He grunted then moved his tall from through the room to a bookshelf being used for medical storage. "People and their dependence in these times… I wish I had an antidote for that and everything would be just fine." He continued to rummage for her request. "Just fine, indeed."

"Will he live, do you think?"

"Live? Yes of course he will live if we get to him in time." He held in his hand a clear vile, roughly the same size as the amber one. He took a syringe from a metal case. "Do you trust yourself to do it or would you like me to accompany you?" he asked, filling the syringe and capping it.

She swallowed hard and took the syringe from him. "I'll do it. It has to be me."

"I'm sorry love." She tossed the empty syringe into the wastebasket beside the other one. "But you'll have to be better soon." His face was unnaturally white and she couldn't bear to look at so retired to his living room until she could be sure he was awake. The entire situation seemed improbable. The man was an emotionless wall and was this his was of breaking? It was true; he'd never told her a thing about him. Even through the nights they had spent together in her room, he had said hardly a word to her, just lulled himself to sleep. There was no conversation, only a quiet understanding of his odd state of mind. She felt like crying then became suddenly angry and left his room for her own.

Her companion said nothing of the situation when he came to her door just past two in the morning. The sound of her bedroom door opening sat her up in bed. He walked in with great difficulty and took his place on her bed. He appeared to have trouble balancing and was experiencing some intense vertigo. A section of cloth had been ripped from her wall upon his interest and was holding his head awkwardly as if to stabilize it. "Did I… not fall asleep here?" He seemed to be struggling for breath. She touched his forehead.

"No love, you're burning. Take off your coat. Sit up." She helped him out of his layers and he collapsed again. "How are you feeling now? Will you be alright?" She stared at his placid face. "Love?"

"I don't understand the question." His voice held nothing. It had not changed. "I am very tired but I cannot sleep." His eyes opened and he turned his head slightly to look at her. "I had an odd dream. Please… help me."

She forced a laugh. He would not break eye contact and it made her nervous. "Did you dream you killed me again?"

"I dreamed that… that I was smiling at you…" He paused but continued to stare into her eyes. "You were crying but I couldn't react. I couldn't move or change my expression I just wanted to make you happy but I knew I never could." He stopped talking and watched her. Her lips were parted slightly and she blinked once.

"You…"

"That's all." He looked away and closed his eyes.

"You…" she struggled to speak. "You do make me happy, love." She reached for him but froze and dropped her hand to the bed near his arm. "But not when you…" her voice failed her and she abandoned her thought.

The air tensed like a strangled breath. Air began pouring from the vent on the ceiling, filing the room with a dull hum. The cloth section on her floor flipped in the sudden breeze and someone in the room beside hers knocked into the ball. His and began to trace the pattern quilted into her bed spread. "I'm very tired."

She looked at him with nothing to say. "Come on then. Your clothes are where you left them. Go change then come to bed."

He sat up with great difficulty then stood like a man made of rags and followed her request accordingly.