Whiskey Romeo

by James Welsh

  Coil had been standing in front of the clinic for a good five minutes. He was acting as if he was waiting for someone, when in reality he was working up the courage to enter. Countless thoughts were racing the track in his mind. He wondered if he was going to bump into someone in there he’d recognize. This was likely, because the colony was small and getting smaller with every funeral. What would he say if he ran into an acquaintance? And what would they say, and what would they think? Would they think he was weak and malfunctioning, conveniently ignoring the fact that they were too? Would Rego ever forgive him if he turned around and went back to the longhouse?

  Coil sighed and entered the clinic.

  As he walked past the seated patients, he was pleasantly surprised to find that no one was talking to him. This was in spite of the fact that he recognized almost all of the faces, some of them even being his fellow miners. He didn’t think that they were just as ashamed to be there as he was, and if they looked at him, he would look back at them.

  He found what looked like the reception desk and walked over. There was a woman standing at the desk, scribbling something down into her notepad. She was pretty, with her pulled-back hair as elegant as the feathers on a black swan. She had chestnut eyes, and she looked out at the universe as if it was her first love. Although it seemed as if she was too focused on her writing, she caught the sound of Coil’s footsteps in the nets in her ears and she looked up with a ready smile.

  “Hello there, and how can I help you?”

  Coil forgot how to speak for a second. “Um, I have an appointment.”

  “Why, of course you do! And what is your name?”

  “My name’s Brutus Coil,” he said. Then he added quickly, “But the reservation would be under Wale Rego’s name. He leant me his time.”

  The receptionist beamed. “That sounds like a good friend if I ever heard one. Come with me – I’ll get you set up in a room.”

  She walked him in a revolution around the clinic, until they came to staircase that curled up to the ceiling. The receptionist motioned Coil to take the stairs, and so he did. In just a few moments, he found himself in one of the rooms with the smoky glass, and he had to say that he had never felt a room like it before. The floor beneath them glowed richly with blue, and as they walked across it, he felt as if he was stepping on thin air. The light reflected off the rounded ceiling and squeezed through the misty windows into the world outside. There was a smell of fruit in the air, and if Coil had ever had a plum before, he would have recognized that smell.

  In the center of the room was a bed, its sheets tucked and clean. The receptionist pointed gently to the bed and said, “Please, sit down – make yourself comfortable.”

  As the receptionist left, closing the door softly behind her, Coil looked at the bed with hesitation. Just seeing the bed was enough to trigger the nightmares that waited for him in his sleep. Already, he could see his friend Friar’s pain, hear his cries for help, feel the burn of the star. Some think that insomnia is the disease and sleep is the cure. But for Coil, sleep was the sickness, and his insomnia was the bitter pill.

  Following Rego’s advice, Coil had brought along a bag of his sleepwear. He put on the clothes and clambered into the bed. He tucked the sheets around him until he was airtight and steeled himself for the doctor. Cracking his fingers, he stared at the ceiling, wondering what the session was going to be like. Whenever he had asked Rego, the old man simply said that there was no point in saying, because it was different for everyone. Whenever Coil asked Rego about his sessions, he turned stern and said that Coil would just have to find out for himself. Coil thought this was strange, since Rego was usually fond of giving away his advice for free.

  At that moment, Coil heard the door open and a pair of padded feet stepping into the room. Coil heaved a sigh, feeling it trickle down his chin – the therapist was there. He couldn’t bear to look at her, though – instead, he continued staring at the ceiling. A distant part of his mind wondered how they carved out the ceiling – he didn’t think that anything could be so impossibly curved. As the padded feet stepped closer, they somehow did not grow louder. If anything, they still sounded as if they were still at the door. It wasn’t until the therapist leaned over the bed and her face appeared in Coil’s vision that he registered her as being there. Surprised, Coil realized that the therapist was actually the receptionist who had led him to the room. He sputtered, “I’m sorry, Dr. Chaser, I didn’t realize that you were…”

  “That I was me?” Chaser smiled. “Don’t worry, you’re not the first to say that. People never know what to expect when they see a nightingale, but they definitely don’t expect me. But this isn’t about me – this is about you. How are you today, Mr. Coil?

  “Fine,” Coil lied.

  “If you were fine, you wouldn’t be here.”

  “Well, I’m having trouble sleeping.”

  “And how long has this been for?” Chaser prompted gently.

  “Since what happened a few weeks ago.”

  “You mean with the miners?”

  Coil nodded.

  “That was so sad. I understand that you’re a miner yourself. I’m assuming you were good friends with them?”

  Coil nodded again.

  “I’m so sorry. I can’t imagine how difficult that must be for you,” Chaser said genuinely.

  “I’m having trouble with imagining how hard it is too.”

  Chaser cocked her head slightly to the side. “Have you been running away from the pain in any way?”

  “I daydream a lot. I don’t have any control over my nightmares, but I have control over that at least.”

  “And where do you go in your daydreams?” Chaser asked, curious.

  “I go to Earth – or what I remember of it, anyway. I was just a little child when I left. All I can remember is the glass lands.”

  “That’s a shame that’s all you remember. The Earth is more than deserts.”

  “It used to be more, but we ruined it, like we ruin everything else,” Coil said.

  Chaser shook her head. “We did burn it down to cinders, but life always grows from the ash. Here, let me show you. Just close your eyes and listen.”

  ***

  “Brutus, you’ve just taken a frigate back to Earth. You’ve been in cryogenic sleep for the trip, and you haven’t woken up in a few years. You wake up as the ship touches the ground, and you know – even before opening your eyes – that you’re back home. You’re stretching your limbs and feeling the burn as the life flows through them again. It’s pain, but pain is the only way we know we’re alive.

  “You open the hatch and step out into the world. You feel the splash of sunlight for the first time in years. It’s nothing like the cold starlight you’ve felt in space – no, this sunlight is warm and hugs every inch of you. And you know that, no matter what you do, that the sun will always love you.

  “You look around, and what do you see? You see the city of life, as people work to make the world worthy of the sun’s love. Everywhere you look, you see the skyscrapers of trees towering up into the skies, wilting their shade in the afternoons. You can feel the soft rumble under your feet, as the pipes of caves come back to life, irrigating the soil and painting the land with green again. And all of that was built back up with human hands, and it’s hard work. But we have to work for our hope – otherwise, hope wouldn’t work for us.

  “But while creation is there, the creator is not. You do not see anyone, and so you start walking. You walk until you reach a strange building that’s cherry with rust and just feet from the crisp ocean. The building consists of a huge metal slab that is standing on four legs, like a dinner table brimming with food for the holidays. You step into the cool of the building and look up. In the slab above you, there is a circle carved out of it, and the circle is enormous and perfect. As you look through it, the sky beyond it seems even bluer than before. But that is when you realize that the sky is turning darker than blueberry because night is falling.
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  “You’ve just seen the sun for the first time in decades, and already it is leaving you. You run to the west entrance of the structure, and you watch as the sun settles into its bed in the horizon. As it sinks, the sun is squeezed and all of its juices spill onto the ground. Even from a distance, you can feel the colors and you can taste the gush of cranberries and oranges. The juice is sweet on your tongue – and it’s chilled, and you’re colder than you’ve ever felt. But, for once, you want to shiver.”

  As Chaser’s heavy words sank into the waters of his mind, Coil couldn’t help but shiver, although the room was actually warm.

  Chaser continued. “As you watch the warm light fall, the cool dark rises. You’re now swimming in the night, and you can’t tell if you’re shaking because you’re cold or because you’re frightened. And that is when you hear something approach you – you aren’t sure what it is, and you don’t know what direction it’s coming from. But you can feel it getting closer, and there is nothing you can do except wait for it.”

  As Chaser spoke, a screw of panic began to twist inside of Coil’s head. She knew that he was a gun of fear, and yet she was still pressing down on the trigger. He couldn’t figure out where she was going with all of this. And that was when he felt it – something had actually stepped out of the blind darkness, and he could feel it wrapping around him. He gasped as if he was suffocating, but he stopped the second Chaser said, “And you find out that it is just me.”

  While Chaser had been speaking, she was stepping closer and closer towards her patient. It wasn’t until she had slinked into bed and put an arm across Coil’s chest that he realized she was with him. Chaser continued her therapy, except this time her whisper was pouring into Coil’s ear like medicine.

  “Although it seems like a dark sun is hanging over us like a guillotine, take comfort that you’re not alone. The darkness cannot fall on you without falling on me too. And while there is no light and you cannot see your way home, you can follow the heat of my body. Because home is where the warmth beats, and you’ve found that home in me. Just remember that I’m always here for you. I will never leave you alone in the darkness…”

  Coil thought that Chaser’s words were dying away, when actually he was finally falling into sleep. In the last moments before he landed at the bottom, he found the shine of clarity. The insight ripped his soul out of his body, and Coil found himself looking at his drifting limbs from the outside. He was expecting to see fear written into his face, but he was surprised to find none. If anything, his face was polished with quiet joy, shining in the darkness. He had conquered his fear. He was finally at peace with the night of his mind.

  ***

  When Coil woke up, the first thing he thought was that he had just dozed off. Thinking that just a minute or two had passed, Coil glanced around the room. But Chaser was nowhere to be found. Confused, Coil put on his colonial drab and walked downstairs. After a few minutes of looking around, Coil found Chaser, back at the desk where they had first met.

  Noticing Coil approaching, Chaser smiled. “And how are you this morning?”

  “This morning? What do you…?” Coil asked, caught off guard. And that was when he peered at his watch, and he realized that he hadn’t been asleep for a minute – he slept through the entire night. It was the first time he had slept soundly since the Descent Incident.

  He looked at Chaser with awe. “How did you do that?”

  Chaser laughed, immediately understanding. “Like they say back on Earth, a nightingale can’t teach the notes – it can only sing the song. Are you interested in reserving another session?”

  Coil nodded enthusiastically. “Can I get something for tomorrow night?”

  “I’m so sorry, but I’m all booked for tonight.”

  “The night after?”

  “The same,” Chaser said sadly. “My next available time would be late next week. I hope that’s okay.”

  “Oh, that’s fine,” Coil said, although it was obvious that he had deflated at the news. “That time, then.”

  Chaser took down the reservation and said, “Well, you’re all set to go then!”

  “Great – well, thank you for…um, whatever it is that you did.”

  “Don’t mention it,” Chaser said. Coil had a flashback to the session, when Chaser was hugging him in bed. For a mad moment, he thought that she was going to hug him goodbye. But, all she did was just smile and wave.

  As Coil left the clinic, he stepped out into his storms. To say that Coil felt disappointed would have been an understatement. Of course, the therapy session had worked out remarkably well, better than anything he could have hoped for. But the miracle came at a terrible price for him. He was left wondering why the next session had to be so far away. He wondered if Chaser had truly understood the gravity of his problems. If she had, she would have made room for him in her schedule.

  In a way, Coil was still standing outside of himself, and he had only dug down to the superficial level. If he had dug deeper, he would have found himself in the chemical reactions that fueled his runaway train of thought. When his supply of sleeping pills had suddenly run out the other week, he thought that at least he was freed of that addiction. But all he did was go from craving a pill to another soul. Chaser was his narcotic now, and the days until their next session together were a sickness.

  ***

  Given the nature of her work, Chaser always worked the night shift. And so, as many of the colony’s workers dragged themselves out of bed for work, Chaser was closing up the sleep clinic until the following night. However, she was locking it from the inside, not the outside. The clinic was her home – she had nothing else in her life but work.

  It was tempting to fall asleep in her quarters, just as tempting as any other morning after a long shift. But Chaser knew that just because the shift was done, didn’t mean that the work was over. And so, with heavy feet, she went into every room and cleaned the sheets for the next night’s patients. She had to check the lighting in every room to make sure that it was shining just right, and that the perfume dispensers were puffing just the right amount of scent. Every room had to be identical, just like how all flawless diamonds look the same. To Chaser, one dirty gear would break down the machinery of her work.

  The quirk about a round building is that it makes the work feel perpetual. As Chaser walked down from one of the therapy rooms, all she saw was the curve of the wall and the next staircase peeking around the wall. For many, this would have been an outbreak of despair, a Sisyphean task with no end. But sailors from centuries past thought it was impossible to circumnavigate the globe, only for the captains to prove them wrong. And just as the captains then had tied the world together with the strings of their travels, Chaser was going to write out her destiny in her logbook and its list of patients.

  And just like sailors and their travels, there were dangers in her walk around that infinite circle. For every patient she saw, she became infected with their fears and their sadness, like sucking the venom out of a snakebite. And while the patient walked away, light and renewed, Chaser became heavy with those weights. She had learned so much about sadness as a nightingale, more than any other creature should endure. It was no surprise that so many of her sister nightingales had taken their lives over the years.

  But even through the mists of sickness, Chaser was determined to find her way home to her purpose. In the spitting face of darkness, she had to shine even brighter, she had to be a lighthouse to all of the lost souls, and she had to finish cleaning the beds before the next night’s wave of patients.

  She was a slave to becoming a master.

  CYGNUS

  CHAPTER 1

  2201 AD

  Nash woke up like the crack of the bowstring. His thoughts banged against the walls of his mind’s asylum, as he found himself in the dusk between dreams and life. He must have been dreaming – there was no other way to explain the necklace of a snake wrapped around his windpipe, its fangs fitted to his lips like puzzl
e pieces.

  But it wasn’t a dream, because Nash could feel it. He could feel the fire in the snake’s breath and hear his own lungs crackling merrily. Nash’s instincts conquered him, and he tried to reach up to kill the snake. But the walls around him were narrow, crushing to the point where he couldn’t even pull his arms up. As he twisted his body, he could feel the resistance of water against his arms. If Nash wasn’t panicking before, he was then, as he was a candle drowning in a well. The fire inside of him couldn’t keep him warm from the winter in the water, and there wasn’t enough water to douse the burning.

  And that was when Nash felt it, what at first he thought was him rising to the surface. It took a few more seconds for him to realize that he wasn’t rising, but the water level was falling. The snake was still pumping poison into his lungs, and Nash suddenly felt the siege of sickness. He arched his neck and vomited into the snake, purging his evil until there was nothing left inside of him. If he had been able to mold rational thoughts from the clay, he would have wondered if this meant that he was evil.

  But before he could even think the sentence, the punctuation came early. The trapdoor to the heavens opened, and a thick light rained down like needles against his eyes. Nash tried to recoil from the blinding light, but the light had rough hands that pulled him up. The hands felt like the center of the universe, and the rest of the room revolved around the hands in a blur. The vertigo was so overwhelming, Nash couldn’t tell if he was being crushed or being torn apart.