The Devil in Silver

by Victor Lavalle

  He met Loochie as she was leaving the television lounge. She had a white towel inelegantly draped over her head. The rest of her remained as polished as ever, baby-blue Nikes, clean jeans and a sporty little sweatshirt, but her head was hidden. It made her seem like a ghoul. He wouldn’t have recognized her if not for the sneakers. She almost walked right past him, lost in a daze. But he touched her arm.

  “Loochie,” he said.

  The shrouded figure stopped. It looked down at his hand, still touching her elbow. Pepper pulled his hand away. Then Loochie looked up at him. He could make out her eyes under the towel, but little else.

  “How are you?” he asked quietly.

  She stared at him.

  “I’m sorry.…” He put his hand on the top of his head.

  “My mother hasn’t seen it yet,” Loochie said.

  Pepper couldn’t see her lips move when she said this. It was disconcerting. As if she hadn’t said it, only thought it, and he’d read her mind. “Did you tell her?” he asked.

  “You think I should?”

  “Call her,” Pepper said. “It’s going to be worse if she just shows up and sees you like … this.”

  “It looks bad?” She patted the towel with one hand, as if she’d only just realized how absolutely bizarre she must look.

  “You’ve looked better,” Pepper said. He didn’t mean that harshly, but that’s how Loochie took it.

  “Well, your girlfriend is gone,” Loochie snapped back.

  Pepper smiled. At least Loochie hadn’t lost her fighting spirit. He admired her very much for holding on to it. But there was still the important business at hand. The reason he’d been roaming the halls, accosting everyone.

  Pepper said, “Can I borrow a quarter?”

  Loochie’s surprised laugh made the sides of the towel shake. “You know who you sounded like just then?”

  Then she lost her smile, as if she was embarrassed by it. “I don’t have a quarter,” she said. “Why don’t you ask her?”

  Loochie pointed into the television lounge. Where Dorry sat alone. Not just by herself, but in an empty room.

  Pepper looked at Dorry, then back at Loochie. But Loochie had already walked off.

  Pepper walked into the lounge and looked up at the screen. The Weather Channel gave the five-day forecast.

  Pepper approached Dorry.

  “What you watching?” he asked.

  She lifted the remote, turned the volume down. “I’ll give you a quarter,” Dorry said. “But you have to sit with me.”

  Pepper rested one hand on the tabletop. He didn’t want to sit, but he did want that money.

  “You’ve been avoiding me,” Dorry said. She peered at the empty lounge. “Everyone has.”

  Her white hair was brushed back, fully exposing her face. She looked thinner. Her eyes were red and dry. “Notice something different?” she asked.

  “No more glasses,” Pepper said, still standing.

  “Loochie broke them in our fight. Staff won’t replace them. That’s one of my punishments, I guess.”

  Pepper pulled a chair back and sat down.

  “I thought I could do it,” she said quietly. “I really did. I’m so tired, you see? I thought maybe we could work something out. Like a truce. I don’t know. I was kidding myself. Maybe I wanted you to stop him. But then I saw Coffee with those needles and …”

  She stopped and looked out the lounge’s windows. She tapped the remote against her forehead a little too hard. Instinctively, Pepper reached out and pulled her hand down.

  “I feel so bad about it, Pepper, you have to know I do. But I couldn’t see him hurt any more than I could see any one of you hurt.”

  Pepper pulled his hand back. His mouth went dry. “But one of us did get hurt, Dorry.”

  “I know! I know. You’re all like my children. Doesn’t matter how old or young. My sons and daughters. And I try to be good to all of you. Don’t you know that’s why I’m the first person who comes to the door? The first face a patient sees should be a friendly one. I show each of you around. Get you a little more food if you need it. Dorry does that. For everyone. Even him.”

  Pepper strained forward in his seat. Suddenly he wanted to shake her.

  “But why do you have to be that way? Can’t you just use a little common fucking sense! Take a look at that thing and figure out it doesn’t deserve to be treated like … one of us?”

  Dorry slid the remote control toward him as if she was passing him a baton.

  “Should I have done that when you came in?” she asked. “You weren’t one of us. You said it yourself.”

  Pepper stood up and pushed his chair back so hard it fell over.

  “All your best intentions,” he said. “And we’re still stuck in this hell. So what’s the point?”

  Was he scolding Dorry, or himself?

  Dorry gave Pepper a tight-lipped smile. “You help,” she said. “That’s the point.”

  Pepper crowded over her. From a distance, it must’ve looked like he was about to crush the old woman. And he was. “You haven’t helped anyone. You’ve made every life you’ve touched—me, Loochie, Coffee—worse.”

  Dorry’s eyes fluttered. He thought she might actually faint. But he couldn’t stop himself now. The anxiety he’d been feeling for Sue, the grief for Coffee, the pity for himself, it all became rage. He wanted to trample Dorry just then.

  “So what good are you really?” he asked. “What good are you to anyone?” Dorry pursed her lips and blew out quietly. She looked down at her hands.

  “Yes,” she whispered. “I guess I see what you mean.”

  She reached into her bra and took out her “coin purse.” It was really just a length of paper towel folded and wrapped around some change. She put the whole thing on the table.

  “I said I’d give this to you if you sat with me,” she told him.

  Pepper grabbed it right away. He felt no remorse for what he’d just said to her. He was too busy unwrapping the paper towel and counting the money.

  Dorry looked toward the window again but could hardly see anything beyond blurs. She sighed deeply.

  “Maybe this is the world. Northwest, I mean. If you think about it, what’s so different? Wake up in the morning, eat some breakfast, take a few pills to start the day. Go to a conference room and waste time. Go to lunch, take a few more pills. Bullshit the afternoon away. Eat dinner while you watch TV. Take a few more pills and go to bed. Isn’t that how most people are living? It’s been awhile since I was outside, but that’s what the news is always saying. Maybe out there is a lot like in here. The United States of New Hyde.”

  Pepper felt dejected when he finished counting. Only eighty-five cents. Enough to reach Oakland? Maybe the initial three-minute call. He’d have to pack all the important information into that window. No greetings. No explanations. Just Sue—immigration jail—New Hyde Hospital—extradition.

  “One big asylum,” Dorry muttered.

  The old woman walked away from Pepper. She pushed a chair up to the windows as Pepper left the lounge. She sat and stared at the broad, cloudless sky, watching afternoon turn to evening.

  33

  BY DINNERTIME DORRY still remained in that chair.

  She didn’t get up to eat dinner. Didn’t notice when other patients filtered back into the lounge. They turned on their shows, ate their meals, enjoyed some conversation, and Dorry hardly noticed any of it. One of the nurses on the night shift appeared with her evening meds. She took them without incident.

  Meanwhile Pepper felt terrible.

  You know what eighty-five cents got him? A recorded message that still demanded sixty-five cents more to connect the call. And where would he get that? He’d tried all the other patients, and the staff members on the night shift rebuffed him.

  Now what? Pepper had been asking himself that question for a few hours by the time Dorry took her evening meds. The only solution he could see was to get behind that nurses’ station again and use their p
hone. Once again, he’d be mimicking Coffee! (And, of course, he had to wonder if that last step—gunshots—would follow.)

  This plan had no chance of success, though. New Hyde’s phone protocol had been changed. The staff’s phone had been removed. Poof. Vamoose.

  Son of a bitch!

  Staff members had been approved for cell-phone use. Simple. No more need for a machine on the desk. Especially if it was going to incite a riot. Pepper entertained the idea of pickpocketing one of the staff members, but he knew he could never pull it off. Pepper was as subtle as a sonic boom.

  When he reentered the television lounge that evening, the man was just salty. He wore a grimace that would’ve struck fear into the hearts of a well-armed militia. More than a few of the patients went on alert when Pepper entered the lounge. Think of the great white shark roaming the shores of Amity.

  Mr. Mack watched Pepper wander the lounge for a full thirty seconds, feeling the agitation flying off him like hot sparks. Finally Mr. Mack said, “Sit your ass down or move on.”

  But Pepper felt like a failure right then, not a thug. His grimace was just a sign that the contents had spoiled. Pepper spun toward Mr. Mack but he didn’t argue or even glower. He sat his ass down, across the table from Heatmiser. Heatmiser looked at Pepper quickly, and turned his chair away ninety degrees.

  “It’s my half hour,” Mr. Mack announced.

  Nearly everyone in the room groaned.

  “Like it or not, we got a system,” Mr. Mack said. “And that means it’s my time.”

  The remote was passed to him, and Mr. Mack flipped the channels until he reached his favorite station. Pepper wondered if Mr. Mack truly loved this show so much, or just loved forcing everyone else to sit through it.

  “Hello, and welcome to News Roll. I’m—”

  That’s all they heard because Frank Waverly, right next to Mr. Mack as always, snatched the remote out of his friend’s hand. Frank Waverly pointed the remote at the screen and turned it off. First time that had been done in over five years.

  Mr. Mack looked at his friend, too shocked to be cruel. He almost whined when he said, “Well, now what are we supposed to do?”

  Frank Waverly tucked the remote in his lap, under the table, and picked at his dinner quietly.

  Doris Roberts grinned at Mr. Mack. “It’s actually Frank Waverly’s half hour.”

  Mr. Mack’s mouth dropped open like he’d been gutted. “Oh, that’s fine,” Mr. Mack said, now picking at his dinner with a plastic fork. He looked across the table. “That you, Frank? I don’t even recognize you right now.”

  Frank Waverly chewed his substandard food and did not look up.

  The rest of the room stayed quiet, too. As if they were all getting used to the lack of the television’s sounds and sights. Soon people began speaking with one another. When other patients’ television times arrived, they chose to keep the set off. The conversations continued and many of the people lingered. For so long that when Redhead Kingpin and Still Waters arrived, they had to share one table. The lounge had gone all Old World, where the point of dinner was to talk with people, not just to clear your plate.

  It was nice. Only Dorry was left out of the pleasure. No one tried to make conversation with her. They just left her there in her chair at the window.

  Even Pepper let himself rest. A momentary reprieve. What else could he do, at this very moment, for anyone? Tomorrow, he would ask any visiting family members for change. They couldn’t get Sue down to Florida, process her deportation order, and shove her on a plane in just one night. No system on earth worked that well.

  One of the night nurses entered the lounge. She was accompanied by an orderly. He walked behind her and scanned the room, paying particular attention to Pepper.

  The nurse reached the glass door in the television lounge and said, “Smoke break. Everyone who wants one, line up.”

  Here and there people pushed back their chairs. For the first time in hours.

  Dorry moved, too. As a line formed, Dorry walked to Pepper’s table. She held a white envelope. She’d had it curled in her palm for so long that it had rolled into a tube when she set it down in front of Pepper.

  He looked at it but didn’t speak. It had been hours since he’d said those cruel things to her, and guilt finally crept across his scalp like a chill.

  Dorry pointed at the envelope.

  “When they brought you in, I knew you were here to find your purpose,” she said. “But I can’t force you to be what I hoped you would be. I should’ve learned that from raising my children.”

  The line of patients going on smoke break continued to grow. The room, without television, was quiet enough that nearly every patient in the room could hear what Dorry said.

  “There is a way out,” she told Pepper. “I’ve seen it.” She tapped the curled envelope with two fingers. “This will show you how to get there.”

  The room seemed to get quieter, conversations dying down. The only people making as much noise as ever were the oblivious staff members. The nurse and orderly were flirting with each other.

  “You think you’re cute,” the nurse teased.

  The orderly laughed quietly. “You think so, too.”

  Dorry swept one hand, indicating the patients in the room. “You can take them all, or just save yourself. I leave that choice to you.”

  Pepper put his hand over the envelope after Dorry pulled hers away. She joined the smokers line. The nurse finally looked away from the orderly and noticed the patients waiting there. She unlocked the door while the orderly stood beside her, ready to bodycheck anyone who might get unruly.

  The patients filed outside.

  Mr. Mack stood up, hands on his hips like a cartoon villain. He said, “I have been waiting for a while just so I could say this.” He stuck his hand out toward Frank Waverly, who still had the remote in his lap. “It’s my turn now, according to the schedule.”

  “Why don’t you just leave it off?” Sandra Day O’Connor asked.

  “Why don’t you wipe the gravy off your chin,” Mr. Mack replied.

  Sandra Day O’Connor looked at her friend, Doris Roberts, who hadn’t had the heart to point out the small brown smudge. Doris Roberts pointed to the spot and Sandra Day O’Connor daubed at it with her napkin.

  Frank Waverly, meanwhile, had not given up the remote. So Mr. Mack reached across the table and slapped Frank Waverly’s tray. The empty juice carton flew to the floor.

  The orderly at the glass door saw this and said, “You can’t use your hands like that, Mr. Mack.”

  Mr. Mack looked over his shoulder and scowled. “When I want to hear from you, I’ll tell you what to say.”

  The nurse joined in. “You don’t speak to Rudy like that.”

  “Big girls shouldn’t have big mouths,” Mr. Mack spat back.

  Rudy, the orderly, stomped over to his table, the nurse right beside him. But the nurse caught herself. She remembered Pepper was nearby and went back to the glass door leading out to the court. She locked it, then returned to Rudy’s side. The patients out on the court didn’t notice this, they were trying to smoke down three or four cigarettes before being called back in.

  “You going to apologize to Clio, my man.” The orderly loomed over Mr. Mack. Frank Waverly, at the same table, hadn’t looked up yet. He ate even more slowly. The remote remained in his lap.

  The nurse, Clio, said, “Please give me the remote, Mr. Waverly.”

  Frank Waverly handed it to her.

  “Now this is a reasonable man,” Rudy said, pointing at Frank Waverly.

  “He’s a turncoat,” Mr. Mack growled. “I got a Judas as my roommate.”

  Rudy, a new employee at Northwest, tried to be reasonable. “There’s no need for this fuss …” he began.

  Clio touched Rudy’s shoulder lightly, appreciatively, but also trying to call him off. They weren’t going to get an apology out of Mr. Mack.

  This was turning into an entertaining little dessert course for al
l the other patients. At the very least they might see Mr. Mack disciplined, and Lord knew everyone wanted to see that. A little theater before bedtime. Well worth watching. Except. Except.

  Except Dorry had just taken off her nightdress in the courtyard.

  Dorry pulled it right over her head and stood there exposed.

  Then, naked, she finished smoking her cigarette.

  Rudy and Clio were focused on Mr. Mack, who grabbed at the remote control even though it was in the nurse’s hand. Those three were busy.

  Which is why only the patients noticed what Dorry had done. Stripped down to her altogether. The ones inside stopped talking with one another quickly. They gathered at the windows of the lounge. The ones outside continued to smoke and watched Dorry coolly. What were they going to do? Best to let her have her freak-out. Soon enough, the staff would escort Dorry back to her room and sedate her. Nobody found this moment unfathomable. If you haven’t caused a scene in a psych unit, it’s just because you haven’t been inside long enough.

  Dorry held the nightdress in one hand. It hung there like a line of rope. She pulled the cigarette from her lips with her free hand, blew out a small wisp of smoke. Then she looked into the lounge, saw the other patients, seemed surprised by their attention. Not embarrassed but almost amused.

  She threw her nightdress over one shoulder. She looked like a nude bather. She waved at them, as if she was about to go for a swim.

  Dorry turned her back to them. She walked toward the fence. Her flesh quavered with each step. Her skin sagged. The backs of her knees, her calves, were mottled blue.

  Dorry reached the chain-link fence. She tossed her nightdress over the top so it covered the barbed wire. The white nightdress rested on the top like snow covering a hedge.

  Pepper watched her, like all the others, absolutely smacked.

  He’d been so surprised by her actions that he left Dorry’s envelope behind when he walked up to the windows with everyone else. It lay curled into a tube on the tabletop.