Black Light: The Deplorable Savior

by Rich Richardson

  “What the hell did you do to me?”

  He paused, as if speaking was painful. “That’s not yours.” In my fear I hadn’t even realized that he was holding his side, one hand pressed on a spot between the armored plates.

  “You’re bleeding.”

  “Like I said, I’m not with the 80’s anymore. I went to the Temple to meet with Frollo and… I left on bad terms.”

  The crowd started running through the streets, tearing apart everything.

  “How can they do this?” I asked, as I reached under a dumpster. Thankfully, there was a stash of clothes there.

  “They’re just scared. A dog creature hasn’t made it inside the walls in a long time. Once the panic subsides, things will be fine. I’m sure of it.”

  “Do you think Frollo will make them stop?”

  He was slow to respond and seemed to tear up as he answered. “No, that’s not going to happen.”

  As I finished putting on the long pants and winter coat I found in the stash, and pulling the hood as tightly around my face as it would go, another member of the 80’s ran into the alley.

  “Scott? Are you ok?”

  “I’m fine, but we need to get out of here. Byrd is going to tear the city apart.”

  “You need a doctor,” he said, pouring rubbing alcohol onto a sponge and pressing it to the wound. “This was all I could find.”

  “Damn Tex, that hurts! We can’t go to a doctor here. We’ll have to find Revy.”

  “The Gray District is way too far.”

  We heard more things shattering and breaking in the streets and two thunderbolts cracked overhead in quick succession, almost as if Myracell knew her children were in danger.

  “It’s our best chance and we need to get as far away from this place as possible. Let’s go.”

  They started to leave, with the injured one leaning on the other for support, but he turned around when I didn’t follow. “Aren't you coming?”

  As much as I wanted to run back home, deep underground, and crawl into my bed, I knew I was better off staying with the two armed men, assuming they really did want to help me.

  “You’re shiners. Why should I believe you’re on my side?”

  “Believe whatever you want, but this crowd is hunting danks and they’re out for blood. If you want to stay, be my guest.”

  I didn’t stay.

  Chapter 16 - Rae Johnson

  The world seemed so peaceful. The sky was blocked out by clouds rolling in. I could smell rain coming and the strong wind carried hundreds of orange and yellow leaves out of the forest. They flew up into the air and fell like rain. Many of them settled inside the Cages, and several crunched under my feet as I crept up to the bars.

  The last thing Revy had said to me was still on my mind, “Rae, you’re going to get yourself hurt.” He didn’t realize that I was perfectly capable of taking care of myself. I wasn’t some little girl for him to order around.

  My business partner was waiting on the other side. He was easy to distinguish, since he was covered in tattoos. After checking for the fourth time to make sure the coast was clear, I stepped into view.

  “There you are,” he said. “Did you get it?”

  “Of course I did.”

  “Hand it here,” he reached through the bars. “Did you look inside?

  “Yeah, I saw the needle.” His eyes grew very wide when I told him that. “It’s ok. My father is diabetic. I don’t think any less of you.”

  “Uh, yes… that’s very kind.” He opened the small black box and pulled out the single syringe inside. I could see the ripped label while he inspected it; “Type 6”.

  “So… didn’t you promise me something?”

  “Huh? Oh, yes.” He lifted the bag sitting beside him and handed it to me. This was only my second delivery for him, but both times we had traded without any argument. That boded well. I started to think that maybe it would be a good idea to work with him in the future, but, before I could ask, I looked up and saw him walking away.

  I opened up the bag. Inside were several food items, wrapped in recycled wax paper and tin foil. Everything was marked “Cage V: Sustenance Package”. The Presidential District always gave huge food shipments to the Cages, since they were locked away and couldn’t exactly get regular jobs. Many of the people there were willing to sell their surplus food in exchange for items they couldn’t acquire on their own, and it was usually poor folks from the Gray Districts that acquired these items for them.

  “May I ask you something?” I nearly jumped out of my skin at the unexpected voice. He had returned to the bars, while I was busy looking through the bag.

  “Sure.”

  “Do you live in the Sunset District?”

  “No. I’m from the Gray District.”

  “Oh, ok,” he said. “I don’t know much about that place.”

  “It’s not a great place to live. The people there are pretty poor.”

  “There are poor people in the Ring?” he asked, utterly shocked.

  “Yeah, my whole district is full of Omniscients that don’t have very much money or food. Why do you think I’m here trading with you?”

  He looked down at the ground. I couldn’t tell what exactly he was feeling, but it looked like a mixture of confusion, surprise and a small amount of shame.

  “If you are poor, why do you stay there? There must be other parts of the Ring that are wealthy, right? Is it because of your husband or children?”

  “What? I don’t have a husband.”

  “Oh, I didn’t realize… so it is your wife that makes you stay?”

  “No no no, I’m not married at all. I’m way too young for that.”

  He tilted his head as I said that, like how a curious dog might do.

  “Then why do you stay in this unfortunate place?”

  “I don’t have anywhere else to go.”

  His eyes softened up and I could see pity in them. He looked as if he had something he wanted to tell me and even opened his mouth to speak, but chose not to. Instead, he simply left.

  I took my time getting back to the Gray District, being more careful than I really needed to be when sneaking around the handful of guards posted at the Cages. I needed time to think. He really didn’t know there were poor people in the Shining Ring? Did everyone in the Cages think we lived in mansions and ate gold for breakfast? Then again, I didn’t know much about the Cages, so I probably didn’t have the right to judge him.

  My walk home took me underneath the overpass on which the Gray District was built. I wanted to avoid being seen by any cops in the Presidential District. Luckily, it hadn’t rained in the past few weeks, so it was relatively dry. The area underneath was just big concrete ditch, and it acted as an enormous storm drain during rainier times of year.

  When I was almost to the entrance, I started sprinting as fast as I could. Two cracks of thunder told me that a storm would be coming soon and this place would start filling up, fast. I sprinted up the ramp leading to the entrance, up two metal staircases, and past several houses until I found the red cross outside of Revy’s clinic. I busted through the door so fast that I almost broke it off its hinges. Jack and Revy were surprised by my sudden entrance, but glad to see what I carried.

  “Got anything good?”

  The two of them were playing poker on the examination table, but moved their cards so I could dump out the contents of the sack; tortillas, very rubbery cheese, some jerky and a few other things. Jack immediately unwrapped the meat and tore into it like an animal.

  Meanwhile, Revy and I sat down at the table to eat like civilized human beings. I carefully peeled off layers of cheese and wrapped them in the tortillas, while he picked up the last of the deck.

  “Did you trade for this stuff at the Cages?”

  “Yeah. All I had to do was bring a guy some medicine.”

  “Did you know this guy beforehand?”

  “No. Why does it matter?”

  “Because you shouldn’t be tra
ding with people you don’t know. It’s dangerous.”

  “Do you really think I don’t know that?”

  “That’s not it, I just…” He got flustered. Communicating his feelings wasn’t something Revy did well.

  “I know you’re just concerned because you care,” I said, wrapping my arms around him.

  “Can you two decide if you’re together already?” Jack said, blunt as usual. “And while you’re at it, get a room.”

  “I own this place, Jack. They're all my rooms.”

  “Whatever man.” He grabbed a bottle of spirit from a cabinet and pulled up a chair. “Who wants a drink?” He poured three glasses, but Revy and I watered ours down. Jack picked up his glass of dark liquor and made a toast, “To living with no promise of tomorrow.”

  We clinked our glasses and drank, but none of us knew that, after tonight, nothing would ever be the same.

  We sat around the table for a while, talking, eating, having a few drinks, though Jack did most of the drinking, and we listened to the sound of rain on the tin… well, everything. The whole district was made of sheet metal, and when it rained it sounded like a steel drum orchestra. The night was turning out to be a pretty enjoyable one, but it came to a halt when we heard something outside. We weren't sure what it was at first, but we started to hear voices over the sound of the rain.

  Someone knocked. Revy went over to the door, while I followed close behind. Jack did to, but he had to work pretty hard not to trip over his own feet.

  Of all the things I expected to find outside, when Revy pulled the door open, two armor clad soldiers and a dank were not among them.

  “We need help.”

  Chapter 17 - Revy Micer

  “Goddammit, that hurts,” Scott said, as I continued to scrape debris and dead tissue from his wound.

  “Stop squirming, unless you want to end up with a necrotic infection.”

  “If I could get a few more of those pills, it might help me stay still.”

  “They’ll interfere with your tetanus booster. I can give you some if you’re still hurting in an hour.”

  “Oh come on, Revy. Please?”

  Eyebrows raised by approximately eight millimeters. Mouth held slightly agape. Lower lip slightly extended by the contraction of muscle tissue in and around the mental region. He was making an attempt to evoke pity.

  “It’s not going to happen.”

  “Fine, whatever.”

  I continued working, unaware that he was angry at me for not giving him the pills. “You’re going to end up with one hell of a scar. It was a nasty wound.”

  “I got scars already. One more won’t make me any uglier.”

  “It would take a hell of a lot to make you any uglier, Scott,” I said, jokingly.

  “Fuck you.”

  “Anger? What did I do wrong?” I thought to myself before pushing it out of my mind. “Eh, he’ll get over it. They usually do.”

  I took full advantage of Scott’s silence, starting to enjoy my work once again. Cutting away pieces of dead white flesh, electrocauterizing tiny blood vessels and removing pieces of dirt and black cloth while my skin tingled from the cold antiseptic mist dispersed above. Most people found it disgusting. As for me, it was the only job I had ever done and ever wanted to do.

  “You know, some patients find that talking helps them take their mind off the pain.” I told him this in the hope that I could get him to stop squirming.

  “Fine,” he said. Now that I was already aware of it, I could hear the angry tone in his voice. “What should I talk about?”

  “Well, you never told me how you got this nasty cut.”

  Slight droop to the mouth followed by an audible exhale. Visible relaxation of the facial muscles, allowing for the release of tension around the eyes, forehead and jaw. He'd moved from anger to depression.

  “Is it a sad story?”

  “No it’s…I mean… Revy, I killed someone.”

  “Oh, ok.”

  “No, that’s not ok!”

  “What? Oh, yeah, of course it’s not.”

  He relaxed once again, making me think he was done talking.

  Moral subjects were a difficult topic, as every person had a different moral code that I needed to memorize for future conversations. Obviously, I had forgotten Scott’s during his time away from the Gray District. I usually avoided certain topics, especially death, since other people always seemed so much more sensitive about those things.

  “Thank God that’s over with,” I thought to myself, not realizing what a huge can of worms I had opened. At first I thought the conversation was done, but then I heard him sigh. Sighing always meant they had something more they wanted to say. I kept cleaning the wound. He sighed again. People who came into the clinic usually wanted me to stitch them up, which I’m good at doing, but then they always had problems they wanted to talk about. Usually, I could tune them out, but some of them just never wanted to shut up.

  I finally decided to suck it up and ask, “Do you want to talk more about it?”

  He began speaking almost immediately. “The Men of the Temple recruited Tex Mex and I to become members of this new paramilitary force called the 80’s. We were OW-” He jumped when I hit a sensitive spot.

  “Sorry about that.” I didn’t tell him this, but my hand slipped because I was so shocked that his story was actually interesting. Usually, people just complained about their daddy issues, suicidal thoughts and other crap like that.

  “So, that’s where you’ve been all this time?”

  “Yeah, I was working for the Men of the Temple. Do you think everyone here will hate me for that?”

  “Ugh, another moral topic.” I tried to deflect it. “Does it matter? You could always leave. I’m sure you don’t want to come back and live here forever.”

  “I don’t think I can go anywhere else. The 80’s and I parted on bad terms.”

  “How so?”

  “They stabbed me.”

  “Oh… right.”

  The stitches were done, so I started redressing the wound after turning off the mist of disinfectant. I didn’t want the bandage getting wet. “Is there anything else you would like to talk about?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe.”

  I knew enough about normal conversation to understand that “Maybe” actually meant “Yes, but I don’t want to admit it.”

  “Just tell me what it is.”

  “Before I left the 80’s, the Men of the Temple sent us to clear out this drug den. They were producing vapor there. There were three of us and three hostiles, so we took them out; one apiece. I shot a man in the back of the head.”

  “Good work.”

  He raised an eyebrow at me. I didn’t know that the hell that meant, so I just improvised.

  “Uh… I mean… It was a clean shot. It was quick. That’s a good thing.”

  “Yeah, it was quick, but I’m still angry at myself for doing it. I just want to forget.”

  “Death is hard for some people to cope with, but you’ll come to terms with it.”

  “How? How do you get comfortable with death?”

  As much as I dealt with people who were sick, dead or dying, I had yet to contemplate that question. I tried to remember the last time any death had seriously affected me. Maybe it was when I was finishing up with my most recent dead patient, getting her ready before the reaper came to pick her up. She was a vapor junkie who died on the table Scott was now laying on; the third one that week. Maybe it was the man who’d been beaten so badly over his inability to pay a gambling debt that he’d bled out. Or perhaps it was the newborn that had drowned in his own vomit during a seizure. His mother had the slight discoloration of the eyes that was common among vapor addicts. That damn drug caused most of the deaths around here.

  “Eh, you just kind of go numb to it.”

  I finished up the bandage and told him, “Take it easy for a few weeks and don’t enter any sit up contests. We don’t want the stitches to pop open.”


  “Thanks Revy.” I helped him sit up on the table. “Can I ask you something?”

  “Sure.”

  “Why do you still run this clinic? When we came here last night, part of me expected you to be long gone.”

  “What else would I do? I love being a doctor.” I really meant it when I said that. I often found that I was most honest when I didn’t think too much about what I was saying. “Besides, I have one of the best houses in the Gray District, no one ever messes with me on the off chance they may need my help someday and I meet a lot of interesting people.”

  “Yeah, speaking of that, who was that girl who was here last night?”

  My hand slipped and caused a few of my tools to fall to the floor. “Her name is Rae. She’s a friend of mine,” I said, as I picked up the forceps, scalpels and other odds and ends.

  “She was cute. I definitely wouldn’t mind seeing her again. She available?” he asked as he laughed. I didn’t realize it was a joke.

  Before I knew what I was doing, I brought my fist down onto the table next to him. I didn’t know I could get angry that fast. Hell, I didn’t know I could get angry at all. It took every ounce of self-control I had to calmly state to him, “No, she isn’t.” Even then, I didn’t need to list off his emotional symptoms to see the surprise and slight dash of fear on his face.

  When I was unable to lift my fist from the table, I looked down and found that I had driven one of my scalpels through it, in the space between Scott’s middle and index fingers. I yanked it out and put it on a tray.

  There was a silence that hovered over us while I disinfected my equipment, including the broken scalpel. I enjoyed the eighty-three seconds of quiet, but another bit of information I had picked up over the years was that other people found silences unpleasant and would eventually try to break them. The word I often heard to describe pauses in conversation was “awkward”, but I had no idea what that word meant. In fact, I still have yet to find anyone who can actually define it for me.

  “You never really seemed the type to settle down.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You never seemed the type to settle down. I don’t remember you ever being in a steady relationship.”