And then Larry Clark went to bed by himself.
chapter 15
“Look at you! You’re going to be dead in three months!” Ray boomed at Emmet.
“Yeah!” Emmet yelled back. “I know! Why do you think I’m doing it?”
“No, your AIDS isn’t going to kill you in six months. This shit will!” He gestured around Emmet’s filthy living room and kicked the coffee table, which was covered in drug paraphernalia that Ray couldn’t even identify.
“Bullshit,” Emmet said. “And anyway, if I get to choose how I die, then this is the way I want it!”
“Strung out and living in your own filth? Jabbing yourself until you don’t have any fucking veins left that you can stick needles in? That’s how you want to end things?”
“Yeah. That’s how I want to end things. I already lost the one good thing I had, and now, I just want this. I don’t want support or forgiveness. I don’t want to find God. I don’t want any of that bullshit. I choose the drugs. Now butt the fuck out and get out of here.”
Ray shook his head at Emmet. “You’re out of your fucking mind. You’re tearing Lou apart. He doesn’t know which way is up. I don’t know if you’ve realized this but nobody else will talk to you.”
“I don’t care.”
“I guess not. Well, Em, now you have to enjoy the rest of your days knowing you’re all alone. You’ve pissed away all your friends, your job... This shit,” he kicked the table again, “is all you have left. Enjoy it, you little pissant motherfucker.” Ray turned and stormed out of the apartment, slamming the door behind him.
“Yeah, go fuck yourself,” Emmet muttered after him. He sat on the sofa and wrapped the band around his arm to shoot up again. A few minutes later, when he popped the band loose, he finally felt close to happy again.
-
Emmet stumbled into the church, happy to be early for once. These days, he came to both meetings high pretty much every time, and he was heading up to the AIDS support group meeting now. He thought he was gently pushing the door open but he ended up bursting into the room. There was a meeting already going on, but not the one he came for.
“Sorry,” he blurted. “I’m here for AIDS.” Then what he’d just said struck him as absurd and he cackled with laughter. “Sorry,” he said. “I mean, I’m not here for AIDS. I already have AIDS. I’m here to talk about AIDS.” He laughed so hard tears were streaming down his face.
A woman at the far end of the room stood up, said, “Please, continue, I’ll be right back,” to the group, and walked up to Emmet. “Sir?” She said. He couldn’t stop laughing. “Sir, please. This isn’t an AIDS support group. This is AA, and if you can calm down for a moment, I’m sure we can offer you something.”
“Oh,” Emmet said, much more loudly than he’d intended, “I am not interested in your AA.” He gestured around the people in the room. “Those people --” He stopped short and locked eyes with a familiar face. “The fuck are you doing here?”
Seamus slid his chair back and stood up. “Now, look here, mate,” he said, “I don’t need this bullshit! Not here.”
“What are you doing at my AIDS meeting?” Emmet roared. “You get the fuck out of here, you tease, you fucking cocktease! You...” He was struggling for a word that was on the tip of his tongue. “You fucking Jezebel!”
“SIR!” The woman shouted at him. “You need to leave, right this minute,” she said, loudly and firmly.
“Oh, do I?” Emmet shouted back. “Where the fuck is my meeting, lady?”
“The AIDS group meets on Tuesdays, man,” someone in the room said.
“The fuck you talking about?” Emmet said. “It is Tuesday.”
The woman standing in front of him said, “It’s Friday, sir. I’m going to have to insist that you leave now, or I’m going to have to call the police.”
“Oh, the police,” Emmet taunted. “Well, that is impressive.” He pushed an empty chair over. “I don’t want to come to your fucking pussy ass meeting anyway, you fucking drunkards.” He turned around and tripped over a different chair, then stumbled out into the hallway. The woman quickly closed the door behind him and he heard her apologizing to the group.
He turned back to face the door and screamed at the top of his lungs, “Seamus, you faggot, you piece of shit, I hope you get psoriasis!” He knew that wasn’t right, so he shouted, “Cirrhosis. Whatever! I hope your liver explodes out of your asshole!”
He stomped out of the church and back to the street. “Friday,” he muttered. “No way it could be Friday.” He staggered halfway home, then ducked into a bar, drawn in by a jukebox very loudly blaring Whitesnake. He asked for two shots of whiskey - whatever was the cheapest - and downed one of them, then the other. Then he asked for two more.
The bartender put a hand up, but nodded, and said, “Eight fifty.”
Emmet stared at him. The bartender stared back, then turned to attend another customer.
“Fine,” Emmet said, and reached for his wallet. He had eleven dollars in his wallet, and another twenty in his other pocket, but he needed that for more dope. He smacked nine dollars on the bar and the bartended poured out his other two shots, then left him.
Emmet slammed back the third shot, then held onto the fourth, sniffing it deeply. It didn’t actually smell that good to him but he didn’t really care.
A dark, overly tanned woman with big, permed blonde hair sidled up to him. “Looks like you’re enjoying a rough night, soldier,” she purred to him.
“Fuck off,” he snapped at her.
She rolled her eyes and walked away.
“Bitch,” he muttered under his breath.
The song that he liked ended and then Billy fucking Ocean came on. Emmet groaned. He had to get out of there. He tossed back his fourth shot and then he was back out on the street. He walked up a building or two, then leaned back heavily against the wall. His head hit the brick wall behind him and he swore.
“This is the life, huh, man?” Emmet called to a couple, a man and a woman, walking up the street. The woman’s eyes widened when she saw him and they both started walking faster. “What’s the matter? I won’t bite you or anything. Assholes.”
He looked up the street to his building and saw his fire escape. He decided that was where he needed to be so he started toward home. He tripped going down the curb and stumbled into the street and --
-
There was a rhythmic beeping that he found soothing at first, but it got increasingly more annoying as the rest of the world crept back into Emmet’s head. He hurt everywhere, especially his head. There was an IV in his hand. He reached for it, but the other hand was handcuffed to the bed. “The fuck?”
He yanked his arm against the handcuff. “Hey!” He yelled. “Hey!”
A nurse poked her head into the room. “Oh, widdle sweepy head’s awake!” She cooed at him in a ridiculous baby voice.
“I’m awake. What the fuck is going on here? Why am I handcuffed? Where am I?”
“You’re at Edgewater Hospital, and there are some very nice policemen here who have a few questions for you. You were struck by a vehicle, Mister...” She looked at his chart.
“Mitchell,” he said. “Emmet Mitchell.”
“Ah, yes, I see that right here. The officers will be in in a moment, Mr. Mitchell.”
Emmet felt terror creeping up through his chest, cold and tight. His stomach, already tossing and turning, felt tight and clenched. He didn’t think he had anything on him. Hit by a vehicle? That’s stupid. I was just going upstairs to go home. Hit by a car?
In a few minutes, two Chicago police officers entered his room. Emmet’s breath caught in his chest. His hands were shaky and sweaty. His mouth was dry and sticky and tasted like bile.
“Emmet Mitchell?” asked one of the officers, a stocky black man, loudly chewing gum with his mouth open.
“That’s right,” Emmet answered.
“You were struck by a vehicle while crossing North Avenue this evening. Do yo
u remember what happened?”
“Uh, no, it, uh, all happened really fast, you know? I was just crossing the street to go home and that’s all I remember. I woke up here.”
“Yeah,” said the other cop, a taller white guy with a toothpick in his mouth. “Don’t surprise me at all, I mean, you were hit by a car. It was a hit and run. Guy didn’t stop or nothing.”
“So why am I cuffed here, then?”
“We were concerned,” said the black cop, “about your condition. There was some concern that you may have been under the influence when you crossed the street.”
“Oh, there was?” Emmet asked, trying to sound casual.
“Yeah, there was,” the other cop said. “Anything to say about that?”
“No, I don’t think so. I had a couple drinks at the bar but, I mean, that’s not really under the influence. Plus, I mean, I was just walking. I was just going home.”
The police officers shared a look. “We’ll, ah, be right back,” said the black cop. The two of them left his room.
Emmet waited for what felt like forty five minutes. Finally, someone came back into his room. This time, it was a woman. She was professionally dressed, looked like she was in her early thirties, hair permed, shoes shiny. She looked like she should be striding around in the loop, riding in elevators and going to meetings, Emmet thought.
“Mr. Mitchell? Andrea Leeds. I’m with Great Lakes Casualty.”
Uh oh, Emmet thought. I don’t have any insurance. “Nice to meet you,” he stammered. His mouth was getting painfully dry. His lips felt cracked and his tongue felt thick and sticky.
“And you,” she answered. “I hope you don’t mind if I’m frank with you.”
Emmet shook his head.
“Good. As I understand things, you don’t have health insurance. Is that correct?”
Emmet nodded.
“But you do have a life insurance policy?”
Emmet nodded again. “Yeah, my partner, he took out some policy. I don’t know much about it. Why? Does that cover me for this?” He realized he sounded hopeful, which he thought made him sound like a little kid. That irritated him.
“No, I’m afraid not. But it can help you,” she said. “I’m here to offer you a deal.”
“What kind of deal?”
“Your life insurance policy has a two hundred and fifty thousand dollar benefit. You’re insured through one of our subsidiaries, so I checked on it. The beneficiary is listed as a Donald North. As I understand it, Mr. North is deceased.”
Emmet looked down at his toes, covered by the blanket. “Yeah.”
“So you have no beneficiary at present?”
“I guess not.”
“Have you ever heard of a viatical settlement?”
Emmet said, “No, I don’t think so. What’s that?”
“Again, I’ll be short, here,” Andi said. “You have AIDS. You have a substantial life insurance policy with no beneficiary to receive it. You have some bills, now,” she gestured around the room. “I won’t mince words. You are terminally ill. You don’t know how long you have, and nobody will be there to benefit from the insurance you have when you’re gone.”
Emmet kept looking his toes. He didn’t say anything.
“I’m sorry if this is difficult, Mr. Mitchell.”
Emmet shrugged.
“I have a proposal for you. At Great Lakes, we have a program where we will make you an offer on your life insurance benefit, a cash offer, for you to have now.”
Emmet looked at her. “What? I’m not sure I understand.”
“You have a quarter of a million dollars that will pay out when you die,” Andi explained, patiently. “But you have no one to give that to. Cashing out the policy would be a couple thousand dollars, tops. We’re prepared to make you a settlement offer. It’s called viatication.”
“An offer...?”
“Yes,” Andi continued. “A one-time, lump sum of eighty five thousand dollars, payable to you immediately, for you to do with as you will. Take the vacation you’ve always wanted, pay your ridiculous hospital bill, whatever.”
“Eighty...?”
“Eighty five thousand. Then you would name GLC as the beneficiary of your policy, and when that unfortunate time comes, the policy pays out to the company. But in the meantime, you’ve gotten to live however you want for the rest of your days.”
Emmet furrowed his brow, thinking. “What’s the catch here? People don’t just give you eighty five thousand dollars.”
“The catch... Well, the only catch is that you can’t change your beneficiary, you’re terminally ill so you really can’t buy any more coverage. For you? There really isn’t much of a downside.”
“This sounds too good to be true.”
“I assure you, Mr. Mitchel, it is true. And, personally, I think it’s a great option for you,” Andi said.
Emmet thought. Andrea Leeds did seem like she identified with him, a bit. She did seem to understand what he was going through, and that he’d need money, and that he couldn’t keep a job in his condition.
“How much is the hospital bill going to be?” he asked.
“An emergency room visit? Tox screen? X-rays? You’re looking at about nine grand, I’d say.”
That leaves about seventy five thousand dollars. Holy shit. I could have seventy five thousand dollars! Emmet’s heart was pounding with excitement. He heard the beeps from the machine speed up.
Andrea, apparently, misread the signal. “I’m sure we can do something about that to help you out. We do negotiate rates with the hospitals.”
“I’ll do it,” Emmet said.
“Are you sure? You don’t want to think about it? Don’t need to consult anyone? I can come back in the morning...”
“No,” Emmet said. “I don’t need to talk to anyone. You’ve saved my life with this, you know that?”
Andrea made a sympathetic face and said, “I’m afraid that I really haven’t done that. I can’t save your life, Emmet. But I can try to make it better for you in the time you have left.”
Emmet reached up to shake her hand but the handcuff stopped him short. “Uh, sorry,” he said.
“No problem. I’ll have that dealt with right away. Can’t have you signing all these papers with your hand tied up, can we?”
She left the room and Emmet reeled. He couldn’t believe it. He was getting over seventy five thousand dollars! Immediately, he thought, that buys quite a lot of drugs. Then he grinned to himself. That really does buy quite a lot of drugs, he thought. I won’t have to answer to anybody. I can go out on my own terms.
A few minutes later, Andrea and the black policeman returned. The cop undid Emmet’s cuffs and said, “Thanks for cooperating, Mr. Mitchell. Hope we didn’t scare you.” He patted Emmet on the shoulder, nodded to Andrea, then left.
Andrea was holding a clipboard stacked an inch thick with papers. “Ready when you are, Mr. Mitchell.”
“Emmet. Call me Emmet.”
“Sure, Emmet. Let’s get started.”
chapter 16
Hish called, “Over here. I think I found it.”
Pepper and Hish were deep in the tunnels and chambers inside The Dam. The Dam spanned the entire width of The Delta where it bordered The River. The Delta was once entirely underwater, until The Dam was constructed. Now The Delta was a wetlands, a maze of small streams and tributaries that spread out over the entirety of the area, with The Dam towering far above it.
It had taken them days of exploring the tunnels to find this room. The tunnels of The Dam were loud, hot, unpleasant places to spend any time. There were wide, hot copper pipes running the length of the entire network of tunnels, and at irregular intervals, more hallways and pipeworks branched off from the main corridor. There were large valves on some of the pipes, inscribed in some ancient language neither Pepper nor Hish could read.
Every so often, they would come across a resident, a worker at The Dam. Invariably, they were dressed in old, brown, grease-st
ained overalls. Some had large wrenches half the length of their bodies; some were armed with a screwdriver in each fist; some had round, smudged goggles. Every one of them bustled through the tunnels intent on some task and paid no attention to Pepper or Hish.
Once they’d taken The Heart of The Caverns, they returned home to The Reaping and the two of them began researching about the Bridges to the human world. It took almost two weeks of intense investigation through the centuries-old tomes in the library in Pepper’s tower to find that one of the Bridges was in The Dam, and that it was simply out of service, long unused, rather than having been dismantled or destroyed. They had a rough idea of where to look, based on the old texts, but The Dam was enormous and maze-like. They were faced with numerous dead-ends, and not every level was accessible from every other level.
They’d searched dozens of rooms and found all kinds of interesting artifacts, and they pushed on for the past few days, getting deeper and deeper into the depths of The Dam. Now, they were standing in a large chamber with a concrete floor and a network of piping overhead. Some of the pipes seemed to be leaking, and a gentle drizzle of warm water rained down on them. There were heavy, rough metal chains hanging from the ceiling all around the room, and off along the far left wall was a large, round shape covered in an old, dusty gray tarp.
Pepper flew over to the object and slipped the tarp off, setting free a cloud of thick, moldy dust. He looked at the thing. It was almost twice as tall as he was, with three hinged metal steps halfway folded up so they didn’t touch the ground. It was a dull bronze color, flat and egg-shaped, with a thick border around it and a hazy, cloudy mirror in the center.
“That’s it, all right,” Pepper said. “This area here,” he waved his hand toward the oval-shaped silver area in the center of the large bronze housing, “used to be a mirror, and when the Bridge was active, you could pass through it and into the human world.”
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