As fate would have it, I ended up in a dumpster piled almost to overflowing with crushed cardboard boxes, packing peanuts, and books with their covers ripped off.
You can imagine, I didn’t take a lot of time pondering how lucky I’d been to have such a cushy landing, fuck no. I scramble outta that dumpster with these little bits of Styrofoam clingin’ to my hair and beard, and hit the ground running.
By this time, I can hear police sirens in the distance, right, and I can tell by the Doppler effect that they’re gettin’ closer every second. There’s no doubt in my mind that a description of me is being broadcast to every flatfoot and prowler in the city. APB, BOLO—whatever the hell you guys are calling it these days—I’m positive that if I stay on the streets, I’ll be in cuffs within the hour.
I duck back in this alley, right? I just wanna catch my breath for a sec and try to figure this shit out, but that siren I mentioned earlier has been joined by another and I can still see the mall from where I’m at, ya know? Hangin’ around that place would be stupid on a stick, so I keep moving, kinda peekin’ around corners before dashin’ across streets and slipping into the next alleyway.
The back of my head is throbbing, I wince every time my feet slap against the pavement, and I’m feeling kinda sick to my stomach now. But I gotta keep right on running. No other choice.
By the time I’d gone six or seven blocks though, I’m spending more time crouched down behind dumpsters and pressing into shadows than I am actually makin’ tracks. Seems like there’s a cop car on just about every street and they’re cruisin’, nice and slow like. Checkin’ out passersby, that kind of shit.
So what do ya do when the fuzz thinks you’re a would-be rapist and have laid out the dragnet? Where could you possibly go to find even a modicum of safety. Me?
I head down to Price Square.
Because that’s where all the homeless are, that’s why. I figure once I’m there, I’ll just kinda blend in, ya know? I mean—let’s face it—all of the disenfranchised basically look alike, and they all look like me.
Gettin’ there was a problem, though. I was sure one of you cops were gonna see me darting across the street, sooner or later, or you’d start searchin’ the alleys once I didn’t turn up on the avenues. If I could just make it to where I had in mind, I knew I’d be home free, but I had no earthly idea how the fuck I was gonna get there.
Now, this is the point in the story where Ocean helps me, if ya can dig that. Ironic, no? Here I am doin’ all this shit in an attempt to spare her a life of suffering and she comes to my aid.
How so? The sewers, man!
I think about Gauge and Corduroy leading her through that network of tunnels with those rotters just overhead, and the undead bastards never had a clue. So I find me a manhole cover back in one of the alleys and dig out this piece of metal from a dumpster. It took a lot of grunting and muscle, but I finally pried that cover from the ground and climbed down the rungs of the ladder.
The sewers in Ocean’s time are dry, man. There’s still a lingering odor, but there hasn’t been a toilet flushed in years. Me, I’m not so lucky. I’m sloshin’ through brown water up to my knees and I have to continually yank my feet outta the sludge that’s built up on the bottom. Place smelled like one of those outhouses they put at campgrounds, after the summer sun has been bakin’ everything inside, and I keep reaching out for the walls to keep from slippin’ in this shit. The walls are pretty damn nasty themselves, they’re slick and gooey and there’s these little things that look like stalactites… only they feel kinda like jelly, or congealed snot. I didn’t even want to think about what I was putting my hands into.
And, damn, it was dark down there, man. I basically had to focus on these rectangular slices of light from where the glow of the city filtered through the drains and walk until I’d reached one. I’d peer out through the drain, try to figure out where the fuck I was from a very limited view, and then make my way to the next one.
I musta been down in those sewers for close to forty-five minutes, man., but eventually I figured I was pretty close to Price Square and should get topside again. I was startin’ to feel lightheaded and my heart was just pattering away in my chest. At the same time, it seemed like it was gettin’ harder and harder to form a complete thought. I didn’t know if this was from my head injury or from breathin’ in clouds of methane… but, either way, I didn’t like the options. If I passed out down there, man, I probably woulda drowned in raw sewage. They woulda found my body pressed against the grating at the treatment plant and it would been all she wrote for ‘ole Bosley Coughlin.
I ended up scaring the hell outta this group of Asian kids when I popped that manhole cover and pulled my sorry ass back onto the streets. This was over by the public library. Not that small annex over on 32nd, but the main one that has that fountain going at all hours of the day. You better believe I headed straight for those gurgling cascades of water, man. I stood under that sculpture of a cherub with the stream comin’ outta the cask tucked beneath his arm while all the muck that had coated me tainted the water brown.
After I thought I’d washed most of the shit off of me—and I’m being literal there—I made my way to New Horizons. It’s this little shelter about a block or so away from Price Square, see? They took me in, bandaged my head, put some hot food in my belly, gave me a pocket-sized Bible, and put me up in a cot for the night. You better believe that laying down never felt so good. Every muscle in my body ached and even though I’d had a bath of sorts in the fountain, I could still smell the lingering stench of sewage in my nose. I kept thinkin’ about how none of this ever woulda happened if I’d just listened to Steel, ya know? I mean, the dude may be something of a prick, but when it comes to this underworld stuff, he really knows his business.
Now, I’d be lying if I tried to say that I wasn’t also thinkin’ about Clarice fuckin’ Hudson, man. While I listened to the street people snore and mutter all around me, I kinda replayed the entire scene over in my mind. Not the chase or the attack, but those brief moments in the mall when I’d actually found myself feeling sorry for her. When we stood there facing each other like two opposing generals who’d realized the enemy wasn’t quite the monster propaganda made them out to be.
And, as I pulled that scratchy blanket up to my chin, I made a promise to myself—I would never underestimate that bitch again.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Ocean could feel Corduroy’s gaze like a hot coal on the back of her neck. He was seated at the table in the main chamber, leaning back in the chair as if he had nothing better to do than watch her pace back and forth, Baby crying on her shoulder. She tried to make sure she was behind the wall of the nursery as much as possible, away from his line of sight. Even then she knew he was still out there, sitting at that damn table like some sort of sentinel.
He knows I was there, somehow he knows, I can just tell.
Baby’s screeches made her eardrums feel as if they were about to shatter so she bounced lightly on the balls of her feet while rubbing his back gently. She closed her eyes and tried to sing to him, but her mind kept returning to the night before and she stumbled over the words.
The door with the barred window. The little room beyond, newspapers wadded into tight little balls and…
“Shhh… it’s okay, Baby. It’s okay, honey.”
Somehow, Ocean felt more like she was talking to herself than the squirming child pressed against her body. She wanted so badly to just forget everything that had happened since last night, to pretend that it had all been a dream. But how could she? Even if she could somehow push Corduroy’s attack to the back of her mind, did she really believe she’d be able to forget that she’d seen behind the forbidden door? And what did it all mean anyway? Why exactly was there a—
Someone was in the room with her. It wasn’t so much that she heard him, it was more like a cold shadow had fallen across her skin, coaxing the bumps beneath the fine hairs on her arms.
Her eyes snapped
open and she froze in place for a moment, entirely forgetting the wailing infant in her arms. At the same time, her breath caught in her throat with a sharp gasp and the walls of the room seemed to press in around her.
Corduroy stood in the doorway with his arms folded across his chest. The scarred and twisted flesh of his face was stretched as much as it could be into a tight lipped frown and something about his posture made it seem as though he were purposely blocking the entrance, cutting off her only means of escape.
“We need to talk.” His voice was low and raspy, almost inaudible beneath the warbling cries of the baby. Yet somehow the words still had the power to make Ocean shift her gaze to the floor, as if she’d discovered something of intense interest on the tip of the black slippers Levi had given her.
“I gotta… I have to tend to Baby. I don’t know what’s wrong with him, he won’t stop crying and I’ve tried—”
“That kid’s the least of your worries.”
Ocean felt as though her entire body had just been doused in freezing water. He really does know, how does he know? Did I leave some kind of clue?
Corduroy stepped closer to her and Ocean involuntarily took a step backward. Her back was now pressed tightly against the wall and she felt slightly dizzy, torn between the desire to cry and run.
“In fact, I wouldn’t plan on gettin’ too attached to him if I was you.”
She glanced up for a fraction of a second and then found herself scanning the room as if a doorway through which she could flee might magically appear. The nursery was so small, no bigger than the interior of the car she used to sleep in really. Even if some sort of escape route did present itself, Corduroy would have no problem blocking her way with a simple sidestep.
“I wouldn’t plan on gettin’ too attached to anyone.”
The words hung in the air like a thinly veiled threat, and the trembling which wracked Ocean’s body punctuated Baby’s weeping with a slight vibrato. She was trapped, and that disgusting rotter of a man was so close now that she imagined she could almost smell the ghost of charred flesh.
“Cord! This latrine isn’t going to dig itself.” Gauge’s voice boomed out from somewhere beyond the nursery and Ocean finally found the strength to look her accuser directly in the eye. She wanted to appear defiant and challenging, to convey with a gaze that she wasn’t afraid of any punishment they could possibly dole out. But, at the same time, the thought of never being able to see Gauge again, of not hearing his laugh or feeling the warmth of his hand on her bare shoulder, caused her to feel as though her heart shattered into a thousand pieces. Her vision wavered through a cascade of tears, but she tried to stand as straight and tall as possible.
“Corduroy!”
The older man angled his head slightly and called back over his shoulder. “Keep your pants on… I’m comin’.”
He took a final, long glance at Ocean and jabbed his finger toward her. “This conversation isn’t over, girl.” And, just like that, he was gone.
Ocean tried calming Baby, but it was as if the infant could sense the tension that pinched at the girl’s neck and shoulders. After what felt like hours, Levi came into the nursery with the offer of taking the little boy off her hands, if she’d help the men with the latrine. Torn between the fear of what Corduroy had told Gauge and the dull ache that throbbed in her head from Baby’s incessant crying, Ocean finally relented. She relinquished the little bundle into Levi’s arms and trudged out of the room.
She walked toward the sound of digging slowly, as if partially afraid that it wasn’t a new toilet being constructed at all, as if it were actually a grave that she would be lowered into after judgment had been passed and her sentence pronounced. That was silly… they wouldn’t kill her for what she’d seen. Would they? They might banish her back to the surface, back to that foodless world of rotters and ruin. But kill her?
I’d rather die. I’d rather they kill me, I really would.
And, if she were brutally honest with herself it was what she deserved. Shouldn’t there have been some sort of punishment for what she’d done to her mother? Shouldn’t she have been made to suffer for her sins? But, no—she’d been rewarded. She’d been clothed and fed, introduced to a world where the fear of violent death was as far removed as the stabs of hunger. And she’d met him, the only person in the world who she’d never want to have think an ill thought of her. To have all of that dangled before her and then yanked away would be far crueler than any execution.
Well, maybe that’s what you get, because of Mama. Maybe that’s exactly what you get.
Ocean stood in the doorway for a moment, watching as Gauge plunged the shovel into the floor. His muscles rippled with each thrust and he grunted softly while Corduroy replaced the full bucket of dirt with an empty one. He was so handsome, her Gauge, so perfect in every way. She’d miss him the most, even more than the food and clean clothes. Even more than—
“Hey, beautiful,” Gauge panted as he looked up, “I didn’t hear you.”
Despite the fear and uncertainty, Ocean still felt a gush of giddiness wash over her. He thinks I’m beautiful.
Corduroy looked at her with a steady gaze. His good eye gleamed with a coldness in the candlelight, shadows flickered over the gnarled remnants of his face.
She swallowed hard and braced herself for what was to follow. No matter what they decided, she wouldn’t cry, not this time. She was so tired of wasting water, of feeling her insides ripped to shreds with the force of sobs. She would be brave. Strong.
Gauge wiped the sweat from his forehead with a swipe of his arm and grinned at her.
“The problem with digging a hole,” he said, “is you always end up with more dirt than what you took out.”
Just do it. Get it over with, please, just do it.
“I mean, this latrine? It’s not even as deep as the old one yet. But we’ve already got that sucker filled up. And we still got all this dirt to deal with.”
Was he trying to make some kind of point with his little speech? Was he comparing her to the dirt in a hole, maybe?
“Of course, the hardest part is over. About broke my back busting through the concrete.”
He shot a look at Corduroy and narrowed his eyes.
“Really could have used some help with that part, too.”
Why was he being so mean? Why didn’t he just come right out and tell her that he knew she’d disobeyed him, that he was aware she knew what was hidden behind that rusted, metal door.
“So here’s where you come in, sweetie. You need to take these here buckets down the south tunnel. Just after you pass the third drain, there’s going to be a passage off to the left. Take that one, turn right twice, and you’ll come to this big crack in the ground. Be careful because it looks like it could lead right down to the very center of the earth. Anyhow, you dump the dirt down there and by the time you get back, we’ll already have more for you, okay?”
It began to dawn on Ocean that, for whatever reason beyond her understanding, Corduroy hadn’t told Gauge yet. Maybe he was waiting for just the right time, or maybe he planned on holding it over her, wielding the power of this secret in an attempt to make her do dirty things to him. Her mother always said some men would do that, that she should never get into any situation where someone would have that kind of leverage over her. Was that it, then? Was he wanting to—
“Hey, darlin’, are you okay? You don’t look right. Do you need some water or something?”
She mumbled a reply, something about a headache due to Baby’s crying, and concern had immediately pulled Gauge’s feature’s into a long frown.
“Maybe you should go lay down. Cord can haul the buckets. It’ll take longer without the two of us both working but—”
“No, I’m fine, I can do it. Really. Third drain, turn left, take two rights… right?”
She soon found herself with a wooden bar pressing down on her shoulders, two white buckets of dirt dangling by their handles from either end. The added weight mad
e her take tiny, shuffling steps forward, making the south tunnel seem much longer than it ever had before. By the time she was halfway to the forbidden door, her back felt as if the muscles were stretched taut, and her knees ached with each step. Only the constant repetition of do it for Gauge, do it for Gauge kept her moving forward and from collapsing onto the ground.
As the door loomed closer, she found it harder and harder to keep the little mantra going. Her eyes were pulled again and again to the rectangle of metal set into the wall, her thoughts returning to what she’d seen the night before.
Leave it alone. Just leave it be and go dump your dirt.
She imagined she’d barely avoided Gauge’s wrath for her first indiscretion. It would just be plain stupid to push her luck further. What was behind that door wasn’t any of her business, it didn’t concern her. There’s probably a good reason, after all, and in time, Gauge will trust me enough to share it… as long as Corduroy keeps his damn mouth shut.
The thought of that man touching her, of his rough and scarred flesh pressed against her own, was enough to make a shudder course through her body. But she would do it; if it meant she could stay here, could stay with Gauge, she would do anything that beast wanted.
But first, she would prove she was worthy of remaining in Gauge’s good graces. She had to ignore the door, to simply walk by it, to pretend she’d never opened it to begin with.
It’s none of your business. Keep walking.
It felt like the door was tugging at her again, like it was silently calling to her in a voice that pulled invisible strings on her soul.
This time she was able to avoid its influence. She gave it wide berth and concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other, focusing on the weight of the buckets bearing down upon her, the throbbing ache in her thighs. She counted three drains and slipped into a particularly narrow tunnel that required her to walk sideways to keep the buckets from banging against the walls.
The Seven Habits Page 16
