by Dyrk Ashton
His fingers are even thicker than The Bull’s, but shorter. It’s a wonder he was able to assemble the delicate jewelry he used to make, but no surprise he can wield a hammer for days on end, pounding metal into magnificent weapons, or pull them glowing hot from the fires with his bare hands. His feet are practically round, flat on bottom, with three thick toes on the front of his right foot. His left foot has no toes. Long ago, The Rhino had been instructing some of his own kind in the art of metalsmithing in a forge built in a live volcanic cavern beneath a high mountain. There was an earthquake and he slipped into the molten lava while trying to save the others. It would have killed any natural being, or at least taken the foot off completely, perhaps the entire leg. For The Rhino it charred his three heavy toes and left his foot blackened and scarred. Walking upright he has a limp, so he often chooses to move about on all fours. The Rhino was lucky, however. The earthquake turned into a full blown volcanic eruption, one of the most destructive this world has ever seen (what remains of it is now known as Mt. Toba). It was the opening strike of the First Holocaust. Many perished that day, including The Rhino’s two Firstborn rhinoceros brothers, three nephews, and two of his own sons. It was Asterion who pulled Arges from the collapsing cavern, saving his life.
“Do you like your new rug?” Tanuki asks.
“It is...” Arges stops there, looks at Tanuki askance.
Tanuki sits, pats the rug for The Rhino to join him. “Take a load off, Big Brother. Aster and I have something to show you.”
Another cleverly orchestrated jest at my expense, Arges assures himself. The fur-ball looks like a little kid wanting daddy to sit and play. But The Rhino doesn’t play, and he sure as hell is not Tanuki’s daddy.
Arges’s mother was a precursor to the entire Dicerorhinini rhinoceros tribe, which once included the now extinct Woolly Rhinoceros and the Merck’s or Narrow-nosed Rhinoceros. The only surviving species of the tribe is the Decerorhinus, the Sumatran Rhinoceros, creatures that have barely changed in over seventeen million years, and are now the rarest of rhinos on this earth.
Truename Arges, The Rhino spent much of his early life with his mother’s kind, wandering the plains of the continent now referred to as Eurasia, perfectly content with grazing, mating, fending off predators, the usual. He had many families and lost them, endured climatological and geological upheavals, saw a few small Firstborn civilizations come and go, and travelled the world, but he always returned to the rhinoceros, to rest and to live.
Then Father came to visit. With him was another Firstborn, one whom Arges had only heard stories about, and everything changed. Even legends have legends. None had spawned more than The Prathamaja Nandana. The First Daughter.
CHAPTER TEN
Flowers & Figs 4
“I gave you money, please let go!” Fi cries. She pulls with all her might but the little hobo’s grip is unbreakable, his three-fingered hand unnaturally rough, hard, and cold.
The rain comes harder, pounding them both. The man’s stench grows even worse as he gets wet. Brown-black water runs off of him. Fi gags. Lightning flashes. Thunder booms. Fi jerks harder, trying to extricate herself from the horrible man’s clutches.
“Don’t be afraid of a little weather, missy,” he croons. “There’s worser things in this world.” He pulls her closer, his carious mouth spreading in a wide wicked grin. “Much worser.”
“Let me go!!!” she pleads. If only the camera near the door to the hospital could see this wide, the security guards would be out here in a second! “I gave you money!!!”
“So you did, missy,” and just like that, the homeless man releases her. “So you did.”
Fi stumbles back, spins on her heel and bolts. In moments she’s up the stairs, beneath the portico at the door and reaching into her backpack for her employee ID.
She glances back to see the man watching her through his yellow glasses, leering in a way that makes her shiver from more than just the chill of the rain. Thunder rumbles again, a gust of wind splashes drops in her face.
She wipes her eyes--and the little hobo is gone. And so are the wind and rain. As quickly as they came, the clouds are breaking up, revealing blue sky above.
Fi glances around to see where the man might have disappeared to. If she sees him again she should tell admissions here at the hospital. This guy is definitely a candidate. She reconsiders--then he would be inside, with her. The thought makes her shiver harder. If I see him again, I’m calling the police!
She hits the buzzer, slides her photo badge through the card swipe then holds it up to the security camera above the door and says, “Fiona Patterson.” The door buzzes and clicks. She yanks it open and rushes inside, breathing a sigh of relief as the door locks shut behind her.
Fi makes her way down the entrance hall to the door to the lobby. That door buzzes and clicks and she enters a spacious room with couches along the wall to the right. To the left is a wide glass window, the wall of a good-sized security booth. A pleasant-looking young man in a dark blue uniform and wearing a headset (the kind with one earpiece and a microphone on a stem), presses a button and his voice comes through a speaker. “Hi Fi.”
“Hey Stan,” she replies.
The door to the booth opens and another guard comes out holding a clipboard. He’s a burly fellow with a crew-cut, the short sleeves of his uniform rolled up over his biceps.
Fi greets him, “Hi Shane.”
“Good morning, Fi. Just need your John Hancock, as usual.” He hands her the clipboard, and Fi is entirely unaware of his eyes moving involuntarily from her wet hair and face to the rivulet of water dripping down her neck to her chest--which is barely concealed beneath her soaked white blouse and tank top. He can even see goose bumps. “Uh,” he looks back up quickly, “Is it raining out there?”
“Came and went,” Fi replies, heedless of her practical nudity or Shane’s distraction. “Just my luck I got caught in it.” She finishes her signature, writes in her time of arrival and hands the clipboard back to Shane. She pushes her hair back behind her ear and takes a deep juddering breath.
With supreme concentration on keeping his eyes off her breasts, Shane asks, “You okay?”
“Oh, yeah. I’m fine. But... there was this homeless guy...”
She tells them about the smelly little hobo grabbing her. “It isn’t a big deal,” she finishes, playing down her fear, “just thought you might want to know.”
“Definitely,” Shane says seriously. “I’ll do a sweep outside, see if he’s still around.”
“I’ll tell the rest of security to keep an eye out, too,” adds Stan.
“Thanks guys. Have a good day.”
Stan says, “You too,” and Fi walks to the security door at the far end of the room. Stan presses a button and the lock opens, allowing Fi to pass into an alcove with a stainless elevator door and stairs up to reception. Fi takes the stairs.
* * *
Stan watches the image of Fi striding up the steps on a flat screen security monitor while Shane heads outside to look for the homeless man. The monitor has a color touchscreen divided into sixteen sections, each showing the video feed from a different camera in and around the building, complete with tiny digital lettering that states their location--and this is only one of several monitors in the booth. There are cameras on each corner of the building outside, and in all the public areas inside. He can also see Sarah, the reception nurse, and Bob, the guard who sits behind her, in the reception booth of the waiting room on the second floor. And there are Joe, the Head of Security, and Lisa, another security guard, in the main security booth that’s built into the corner of the recreation room on the third floor.
A hell of a lot of security for a hospital, Stan has always thought. Then again, this isn’t a great neighborhood, and they do keep a lot of drugs here.
Fi stumbles on one of the steps, catches herself on the handrail, and continues on. Stan shakes his head. That’s our Fi. He scans all three monitors. Nothing exciting, as usu
al. He returns to his Sudoku numbers puzzle.
* * *
In the spacious waiting room on the second floor, Fi greets Sarah, the reception nurse, a middle-aged woman who always wears a cardigan over her scrubs, and says “Hi” to Bob, the security guard who sits behind her, dozing in front of another bank of surveillance monitors. Sarah rolls her eyes at Bob’s half-conscious snort of a reply, and Fi hurries on her way to the locker room. She needs to change into her scrubs, but what she’s really looking forward to is getting out of these wet clothes and washing the nasty hobo slime off her arm.
* * *
Already unbuttoning her blouse, Fi bursts through the door of the unisex locker room and runs right into Zeke.
They both shout in surprise as he stumbles backward and falls onto a bench with Fi right on top of him. His guitar case clatters to the floor.
“Shit! Sorry!” she exclaims, reaching for his fallen guitar, pressing herself harder against him in the process. He reaches for the case at the same time, and for a moment they’re stuck there, one atop the other, her hand on the handle of the case, his on hers, their faces only inches apart.
Fi’s reminded just how terribly handsome he is, with his deep brown eyes, those long lashes, and his dark brown hair combed back, waving down over the collar of a blue oxford shirt. He doesn’t wear scrubs like everyone else in the hospital, just jeans, with the sleeves of his shirt rolled up to his elbows.
“Hi,” is all Zeke can think of to say.
Fi pushes herself up, flustered and embarrassed. “I am so sorry!”
“No no, my fault,” he says, sitting upright. And he smiles---a genuine, reassuring, comfortable smile.
“I... need to get dressed.” She hesitates, pushing her hair back over her ear, then musters her resolve and steps past him to her locker.
“Are you alright?” he asks as she dumps her backpack on the bench. “You’re soaked.”
“Yeah, it’s just a freak rain. Hit out of the blue. And a creepy homeless guy grabbed me outside.”
“What?” Zeke stands, his expression changing from curiosity to concern. “You got grabbed?”
“It’s nothing, really. If anybody can handle crazy old people it’s me, right?”
Zeke’s not entirely convinced. That sounded more like a question than a statement. “Yeah, sure,” he answers, following it up with an awkward pause.
“I’ve got to change quick or I’m going to be late for rounds.” She resumes unbuttoning her blouse.
“Okay,” he replies, but he still stands there.
“Zeke?”
“Oh!” he gushes, “yeah!”, and there’s that smile again, this time accompanied by the fingers through the hair and a reddening of the cheeks. “I’m going.” He retrieves his guitar and goes to the door, but stops, wanting to say more--
“See you on the floor,” says Fi.
He nods and exits, regretting his cowardice once again.
* * *
Out in the hall, Zeke slumps against the wall. He’ll let her have the week, he decides. Then, when he gets back from the conference, he’ll sit her down. Make her listen. Tell her how he really feels about her. That he’s loved her since the moment he saw her. That somehow he knows he’ll always love her, and always has. Then at least he’ll know he’s done everything he could. What happens after that is up to the fates.
* * *
Fi groans, places her palms against the locker. It would have been nice, being with Zeke. Better than nice. But it’s just not meant to be. Why should she expect anything different? Still, she wonders for the hundredth time if she’s made the right decision, and resolves again, for the hundredth time, that she has. She doesn’t need that kind of drama in her life, and now she can be free of it. As long as she can get him out of her head, that is.
She pulls off her shirt and sniffs the sleeve, then crumples it and jams it into her locker with an “ugh” of disgust.
* * *
Fi hurries down the hall in turquoise scrubs, the short-sleeve top over a long-sleeve white T-shirt, her hair pulled back in a newly re-done ponytail. She has a few minutes before her shift starts, so she slips into the break room, sets the flowers and bag of figs on the counter and pours herself a cup of “that foul substance,” coffee. Taking a sip, she can’t resist a smile. My uncle is such a dork. She retrieves a paper grocery bag from the cupboard, places the figs inside and begins to put the orchids in as well, but peels back some of the green paper and lifts them to her nose.
The door bursts open and in sweeps Big Billy, startling Fi enough that she almost drops the flowers.
“Fabulous Fiona!,” he calls in a high tuneful voice, sidling up to pour himself a cup of coffee. “I may have the very best gossip ever in the history of the whole wide world, girlfriend,” he says, keeping his voice down, checking the door.
Everything about Billy is big--his build, personality, penchant for hyperbole, flair for the dramatic, appetite for salacious gossip--and his cock, too, if he’s to be believed.
Billy is an orderly and Fi’s only real friend at the hospital. Maybe the best friend she has, period, though they never hang out outside of work. He’s in his mid 20s, built like a football player, though a little softer and rounder, with a flattop buzz cut of bright orange hair and a round baby-face. He says he actually did play football in college, somewhere in the South, in what he calls his “previous life,” when he “pretended to be a breeder. I had sex with girls. Eww!”
Billy is easily the biggest guy in the facility, 6’ 5” tall, 260 pounds, but so light on his feet he swishes, on purpose, because Big Billy has enough gay for the whole city, maybe the whole state, and he lets everybody know it. Most everyone at the hospital likes him. He’s been heard to say within earshot of the few die-hard homophobes who don’t, “The only thing I like better than suckin’ cock, is kickin’ ass.” They pretty much stay out of his way.
He takes Fi by the elbow and leads her to a chair at the break table. He sits next to her, overflowing with excitement.
“Your Peter has been a very naughty boy,” he spills. “God love him!”
“Oh no, is he okay?”
“Fi! He’s better than okay. He got his weenie wet!”
“Wait... What?!”
“Salazar--you know Salazar, the night janitor?”
Fi shakes her head.
Billy waves it off. “Doesn’t matter. Anyway, he and I are buddies. Sometimes, if you know what I mean. I helped him get his job--”
“Billy!” Fi knows he’ll prattle on forever if she doesn’t keep him on point.
“Okay, so I got here real early this morning, about five, and Salazar was just leaving. He grabs me in the parking lot and tells me that he was on his way out after his shift and realized he forgot his phone in the closet on the fifth floor. So, he’s heading down the hall and he hears something in Peter’s room, and sees the door is open a little. He peeks in, and guess what he saw?”
“Billy!” Fi protests. “Come on, what?”
Billy is barely able to contain himself. “Peter, on his back, with the biggest grin you’ve ever seen, because...” he pauses for dramatic effect, “Dr. Williams was on top of him, riding him like a bucking bronco! Yee-haa!”
Fi’s hands go to her mouth. “Oh my God!”
“Isn’t that awesome?!”
“Billy, that’s terrible!”
“You’ve got to be kidding. You should be thrilled for the old fart. And Dr. Williams. I don’t think that woman’s gotten laid in, like, forever.”
“I don’t believe it.”
“You’re just jealous that somebody besides you made Peter smile. And that everybody’s getting laid but you.”
“What? I am not!”
“Uh-huh,” Billy nods knowingly. “Anyway, Salazar wouldn’t lie, that man does not have the imagination to make something up like that. Believe me.”
Fi is quiet while what Billy’s told her sinks in. “What should we do?”
“What? Li
ke tell anybody? Hell no! Anyway, who could blame her? He is smokin’ hot, for an old guy.”
“Billy! He’s a helpless old man!”
“Oh please. Everybody knows he’s hot. And he’s not that helpless.” He holds his fingers up to put quotation marks around “helpless,” then leans closer. “There’s nothing wrong with Peter’s peter, you know. Get that warm sponge out for his bath and, ‘hello!’ He’s uncircumcised too.”
Fi buries her face in her hands. It’s just not funny--or at least it shouldn’t be--but there’s something about the way Billy talks. He’s got absolutely no filter and nothing is sacred, but somehow he makes even the most insane things sound reasonable. She watches him, sitting there with his arms crossed, one hand fiddling with his necklace. The pendant is kind of a triangle, but convex at the base and concave on the sides, more so on one side than the other, made of copper with funny little markings, and strung on a cord. Says his dad gave it to him and he just adores it. He looks so flippant and self-assured she can’t help but laugh.
“See?” Billy becomes more serious. “I promise, if it gets out of hand I’ll file a report. Meanwhile, I’ll spread the word to keep an eye on them.”
Fi gives him an admonishing look.
“Only the staff I trust,” he adds. “No doctors or admin. We wouldn’t want Dr. Williams to get fired. She’s cool, right? Or they could move Peter to another facility. We don’t want that, do we?”
Fi shakes her head, “No.”
“It just happened this once, as far as we know, so we’ll leave ‘em be for now, okay?”
Fi acquiesces, “Okay.”
Billy checks his watch, then tucks his necklace back into the collar of his scrubs and pulls his chair right in front of her. “Now, dish.”
Fi acts like she doesn’t have any idea what he’s talking about.
“You’re not getting off that easy, Fi-fi.”
Fi wants to scratch the eyes out of anybody else who calls her “Fi-fi,” but somehow, when Billy says it, it’s kind of endearing.
