by Chad Leito
When Baggs was dressed, he picked up the grocery sacks, tried not to think that this was the last time he would see his family, and opened the bathroom door. Maggie and Olive were now both on the floor, playing with the doll that Baggs had made out of old socks. Tessa was sitting at the fold-out table, reading over a book she had gotten from the library when Baggs exited the bathroom.
“Baggs? Is everything okay?” she said, looking up at him. Her eyes were quizzical, her head tilted.
She knows! How does she know?
“Oh, yeah, honey,” he said, and he kissed the top of her head. He spent a moment taking in her smell—there was no smell like it in the world. She smelled of soap and earth, and… Baggs paused, thinking what the last thing was. Of Tessa. She smells like Tessa. That’s the only way to describe it. It’s my favorite smell.
“What are those sacks? Maggie said you had something.” Tessa said.
“I’ve got a surprise. Girls, are you hungry?” Baggs put the sacks down atop the card table and his two girls stood up. Their knees and feet were dirty from the concrete floor. Both of them had long, wavy red hair that flowed past their elbows. Their hair was peculiar, because neither Tessa nor Baggs had red hair.
Must be a recessive gene or something.
As Baggs reached a hand inside one of the sacks, Tessa held an expression that was in between curiosity and playful distrust. Olive’s nose wiggled as the six year old sniffed the air, smelling the food like a dog would. In that moment, Baggs knew that he was doing the right thing. He would die in Outlive, but at least his little girl would be fed.
“A customer brought by a sack of food for Greggor today,” Baggs lied, not daring to look at Tessa who would instantly see right through him. “But Greggor is on some kind of all-liquid diet, and so he said that I could have the groceries.”
Olive’s little hands were clutching the side of the table and she looked up expectantly at Baggs, her green eyes sparkling. Baggs couldn’t help smiling when he thought that she was about to try cake for the first time. The happiness he felt almost brought tears to his eyes. So did the thought that this would be his last meal with them.
“So Greggor was just going to throw it away, but I said, I think I’ve got some little munchkins at home that will take care of that food for you.”
Now, Baggs felt brave enough to steal a glance at Tessa. She had her arms crossed, but was smiling. Maybe she believes me.
“The first item is…” Baggs reached a hand into the sack, and pulled out a plastic container “…chicken!” The rotisserie chicken was covered in seasoned skin, and the food was still warm in his hands.
Olive actually drooled when Baggs put the chicken on the table.
One by one, Baggs presented the items as though they were courses at a five star restaurant. They might as well have been. Baggs couldn’t recall the last time they had as nice of a meal as this. As Baggs got out the food, he thought that he noticed fear in her eyes, and wondered if she had figured it out. Tessa was hard to read. She had shoulder length brown hair, and Baggs thought she was beautiful. Her eyes, though, didn’t often betray what she was thinking unless she wanted them too. They were dark, contemplative. Baggs always thought that Tessa was smarter than he was.
Baggs got out each item, but left the cake inside of the sack until after they had eaten the pineapple, French fries, and chicken. It was an odd combination, but Baggs had a reason for choosing the foods. Tessa loved French fries; they were her favorite food item. The girls had never had French fries, but Baggs thought that they would at the very least tolerate them. As he watched them eat, he found that they loved them. He had chosen chicken because he wanted them to get some protein; they were too skinny. Baggs had chosen pineapple because he had heard it was good, but never tried it himself. After taking his first bite of the wet, sweet fruit and feeling the flavor explode in his mouth, he had to restrain himself from eating the whole container so that the others could try it too. As the meal went on, and they talked and joked over the table, Baggs kept glancing over at Tessa. He became more and more sure that she didn’t suspect anything, and believed his story about Greggor.
When they had eaten all but the chicken bones, Baggs brought out the cake. Maggie literally licked her lips when she saw it. The cake was red velvet, just like the one that Baggs had seen the rich lady throw away. The dessert was moist, with generous portions of icing separating the cake into layers. They ate this with their hands, like they had the other food. They passed around the dessert and each family member took one bite at a time. Tessa and Baggs each took small bites so that their children could have more. If unchecked, Maggie and Olive would have taken the whole cake in their hands and declared that a ‘bite.’ Tessa and Baggs policed their portions, but still allowed them to get generous handfuls each time the cake came around. When there was nothing left but crumbs at the bottom, Maggie and Olive passed the plastic container back and forth, licking to make sure that they got everything. When they were done, the girls were sleepy. Baggs could not remember the last time his little girls went to sleep with full bellies.
The girls brushed their teeth, and then it was time to go to bed. Olive and Maggie slept on a queen-sized mattress in the living room. Baggs laid down with his daughters, kissed the tops of their red heads of hair, and read to them, as he did every night. They were making their way through the Harry Potter books, and Baggs had borrowed the fifth one from the library. Maggie seemed to like the story more than Olive. Olive snuggled up to Baggs’s chest as he read; he suspected that she just liked to hear his voice as she fell asleep.
Baggs read one chapter, and then was about to close the book when Maggie begged for one more. Baggs ended up reading two more. As Maggie listened to him read the story of Harry’s fifth year at Hogwarts, Baggs became teary eyed, thinking that she would have to read the rest of the series on her own. He imagined them, a few months from now, lying on the bed and Maggie reading to Olive instead of Baggs reading to them. The thought brought back the horror and sadness that had clawed at his throat while he was in the piano room that day, but he tried not to think about it. He didn’t want to ruin the perfect night with fear.
When he was done reading, he kissed them on their heads and pet their hair until they were asleep. He placed Olive’s head on a pillow instead of on his chest so that she wouldn’t feel his heart racing.
After cherishing his last moments with his girls, Baggs got up, brushed his teeth, and went into his bedroom. He was thankful to find that Tessa was half-asleep, because that meant that she wouldn’t question him. He wouldn’t have to lie to her anymore.
She was naked, as usual, when he came in. He lay down, and even though she didn’t open her eyes, she crawled over to him, rest her head on his shoulder, and hugged his body with one leg and one arm.
“Goodnight, I love you,” Baggs said.
“I ‘ove you too,” she said sleepily.
And then, Baggs lay there for three hours and was not even tempted by sleep. He tried not to move much, so that Tessa would fall into deep REM sleep as he lay there. He looked at her face. Her eyes were closed. Her mouth was relaxed and open; she breathed over his shirt. After thirty minutes, she twitched a little bit as she began dreaming, but that subsided after a moment.
Baggs lay there and thought about how much he loved Tessa—how much he needed her. He used to have a lot of social anxiety, and he believed that Tessa had cured him of that. She was much braver than him, and had shown him unconditional love like he had never known before her. Baggs remembered how scared he had been the night that he had broken his arm. He had cried that night in bed, and she had held him, comforting him. Now, he thought, staring at the cracked ceiling, I’m going through something much more terrifying, and I can’t talk to her about it. She won’t hold me and she can’t comfort me. I’m all alone in this.
Baggs lay there, cherishing the gentle way her bare chest rose and fell against his arm. He cherished her warmth, and tried his best to perfectly captur
e this moment in his memory so that he could return to it in times when he was scared.
After two hours, he thought, I’d better go.
But he just couldn’t get up. It felt so good to be in bed with Tessa, and to know that the girls were in the next room. He thought about Olive’s full belly after licking all the crumbs she could find at the bottom of the cake container and smiled. The girls each had protruding stomachs from how much they ate.
At three hours, Baggs looked over at Tessa and thought about dying in front of 200,000 strangers in the Colosseum, instead of here with her. The thought made his heart race, and after a moment, he thought that if he didn’t leave soon, he might start crying. He kissed her head and gently slid out of bed.
“Where are you ‘oing?” She croaked sleepily.
“Bathroom,” he said. He went over to her side and kissed her head five times. “Love you.”
“Love you.”
Baggs walked out of the bedroom, then he walked back to Tessa and kissed her again, pressing his lips to her warm forehead and enjoying the last time he would ever touch the woman he loved. “Love you,” he said again.
“’ove you,” she whispered. Baggs didn’t think that she was awake. He stood and looked down at her, and then felt the tears begin to fall from his eyes and roll over his cheeks. He stifled a sob, and thought, I’ve got to get out of here.
He went into the bathroom and changed into the clothes he had stored under the sink as quietly as possible. With his jeans and bloody shirt back on, he looked one more time at his daughters, who were asleep on the mattress. He hoped that he did not wake them as he left.
Baggs removed the chair from beneath the door handle, unlocked the deadbolts, the chain locks, and the door handle. He relocked the door handle after opening the door, and glanced back at his redheaded daughters, sleeping peacefully on their mattress one last time.
Baggs stepped into the hallway and shut the door behind him. He had left his keys on the table; he did not need them anymore. He turned, opened the door to the stairwell, and as he walked down the stairs, he tried to not think of the fact that if he survived Outlive he could see his daughters again. If he survived, they could have meals like that once a month, and he could hold Tessa again while he slept. If he survived, he could finish reading the Harry Potter series to Maggie.
He tried not to wish for these things, because the hope scared him. It made him feel soft, and weak. He wanted to feel fearless and ready to die as he entered the arena. Historically, bravery seemed to pay off in the Colosseum.
Baggs lit his last cigarette for the month as he stepped out onto the streets and began to walk through London at one in the morning.
Part 2
1
Baggs had made it all the way to the Media Tower by three in the morning. His feet were aching and swollen by that time. From reading medical books in the library, he suspected that he had plantar fasciitis, but had no means of getting this checked out. Whenever he walked for long distances, his heel and the bottom of his foot ached. At three in the morning, as he sat on the stone steps in front of the Media Tower and took off his socks to examine his throbbing feet. He saw that the tissue had swollen so much that where his arch should have been, his foot protruded further than even his heel.
“Damn,” he whispered. He took off his other shoe and began doing some of the stretches he had read about in the library. He stretched each individual toe backwards, and forwards, and then stood and stretched his calf muscles on the steps. Then, he sat down and rubbed the sore areas of the bottoms of his feet with his right hand; his left was not dexterous enough for such a task.
Baggs chided himself for not taking any ibuprofen with him on his journey when he knew that he would be walking such a long way. There was nothing he could do about it now. He slipped his socks on, then his shoes, and walked up the steps towards the Media Tower’s entrance.
The Media Tower was a tall, black triangle of windows that came to a point 40 stories above the concrete. As Baggs walked up, he saw that the point at the top of the building happened to be centered with the moon from his point of view.
The door was, as he expected, locked. There was no writing on the glass to give any indication of what time it would be opening back up. Not knowing what else to do, Baggs walked along the wall a ways and sat down with his back against the structure.
At least it’s not raining, he thought, looking up at the sky. Actually, I couldn’t have hoped for better weather.
He looked among the moonlit streets and masses of concrete, wondering if Tessa and the girls were still asleep. He hoped so. For most of his twenty mile walk towards the Media Tower, he had been fearful of Tessa catching up with him, teary eyed, and begging him to come back.
Baggs shook his head as he looked out at the streets that the weeds were reclaiming. Even though Tessa was usually the rational one of the two of them, he thought that he knew best when it came to this issue. They now were really out of CreditCoins, and there was no one who would intervene and save them as their bodies slowly deteriorated until they didn’t have enough energy to breathe anymore.
No one cares about us. No one cares about the poor.
On his way to the Media Tower, Baggs had gone through downtown. He had seen whores dressed in fishnets and high heels with gaudy makeup caked onto their faces. He had expected this. What he hadn’t expected was that so many of them were so young. “Hey, sugar,” one girl had called to him, and when he turned to her, she winked and beckoned him to come over. “Wanna play?” she asked. Baggs thought sickly that she appeared to be eleven. She was a child.
A few blocks later, Baggs had moved into a richer part of town, where at two in the morning, men and women smelling strongly of colognes and perfumes were waiting outside a nightclub called “The Circus.” Paparazzi were standing outside, cameras idle, talking to each other—they were apparently waiting for some celebrity to exit the club. Men and women stood in a long line, many of them swaying drunkenly. The bouncer at the door to The Circus wore a clown outfit with a painted red mouth. He spat when Baggs walked by. The music was so loud on the inside that Baggs could feel it in his chest as he passed on the street. The door to the Circus was flanked with two glass windows that looked inside to small platforms. Inside the windows, on each of the platforms stood a woman, naked, and chained by the necks so that she had to stand, but could not sit. The women’s’ entire bodies were painted; one was painted to look like a peacock and the other looked like a leopard. Both of the girls were drugged, and Baggs guessed that they were slaves used for sex and entertainment. Their eyes didn’t see Baggs as he walked by. They stared off into space with dilated, lazy pupils. The girl who was painted to look like a leopard was leaning on her chain, as though she didn’t notice it was choking her. The men and women in line didn’t seem to notice much.
The most disturbing thing Baggs saw while walking through London was the dead kid in an alley between two tall apartment buildings. It looked like the boy had fallen (been pushed) out of a high window, and was being picked at by rats. Regardless, a drunken man was sleeping ten feet away; he had a bottle of whiskey beside him and had pissed in his blue jeans. Baggs wondered if he knew the kid.
Baggs shook his head again. It was a mean world out there. No one cared about the kid on the pavement, the chained up sex slaves, or the eleven year old whore. Likewise, no one would care if sweet Maggie and Olive never ate again. Greggor cares more about his diamond nipple rings than helping anyone out, and George Thurman cares more about his wife’s fake breasts.
Baggs sat there for a moment, wondering what time someone would show up and let him into the building. He was tired. Thinking he might just relax for a few minutes, he lay down on the stone and shut his eyes for a moment. Sleep overcame him quickly after that and he didn’t wake up until five minutes after seven in the morning.
Baggs awoke just enough to be conscious of his surroundings, but didn’t feel like opening his eyes yet. There was a clack cla
ck clack noise close to his head and in his stupor he thought that either Maggie or Olive must be banging something against the walls of their apartment. But then the clack clack clack noise came closer to his face and he opened his eyes, alarmed.
Instead of the cracked, paint-chipped wall of his bedroom, he was looking at the stretching mass of buildings that was London, painted orange by the dawn sunlight. He slowly realized where he was, and a pang went through his chest. I’m not at my apartment. I’ll never be at my apartment again. He realized what was making the clack clack clack sound just before he got kicked in the stomach.
Boots.
The one furthest from Baggs reared back and slammed into his upper abdomen, causing him to cough and turn over, losing his breath.
“Ye’ can’t sleep here! Git! Git!” said an angry female voice. Baggs opened his mouth to explain that he wasn’t a vagrant and was waiting here to sign up for Outlive, but found that he still couldn’t talk. His diaphragm was contracted and he couldn’t draw in air. Another boot came up and kicked him in the chest. He rolled over and saw a female police officer standing over him. Her eyes were covered by reflective glasses. She had an assault rifle strapped around her shoulders and was holding the handle. “I said, ‘git!’”
Baggs slowly got to his knees and put his hands up to show that he meant no harm. Behind him, business men and women were going into the front of the Media Tower, wearing suits and looking over their shoulders at the homeless man having a confrontation with the police. “Don’t kick me again,” Baggs said.
“Git!”
“I need to go inside. I’ve got business here.”
“Business, eh? You’re barefoot and you say you’ve got business in the Media Tower? Git! This ain’t your home!”
