Living the Good Death

by Scott Baron

  Shit.

  As she lowered her hand, Curtis flopped down in the empty chair next to her.

  “I like the hand-wavey thing,” he said with a chuckle. “Very intimidating.”

  Dorothy paid him no heed. Ignoring her, or just simply oblivious to her obvious mood, he jumped right back in.

  “So, you’re Death, huh? Well, now there is something I did not know.”

  She cast a sharp glance his way.

  “I once heard someone say that ignorance is bliss. You must be the happiest man alive,” she shot back.

  “Oh, ouch! That hurts. No, really.” He laughed, brushing it off. “So listen, I was wondering, if you really are Death, why exactly is it you’re in here with all us loonies?”

  “I don’t know. For some reason I’m trapped in this realm. I’m stuck.”

  Beckman stopped counting to himself and chimed in.

  “Why don’t you just click your heels together three times and say ‘there’s no place like home, there’s no place like home, there’s no place like home’? And you know, travel can be deducted if, uh, if it is for legitimate business purposes.”

  “That was good, Beckman. You almost didn’t talk about accounting this time,” Curtis complimented.

  “Is everyone in here insane?” Dorothy sighed, exasperated.

  Curtis just raised one eyebrow and gave her a look, one mental patient to another.

  “Point taken,” she conceded.

  “Oh come on,” Curtis said. “You mean growing up with the name Dorothy, you never got Wizard of Oz jokes?”

  “What’s a Wizard of Oz?”

  Gasps of shock could be heard.

  Sacrilege! The unified thought of a dozen mental patients buzzed in the air.

  Heads turned, conversations stopped, and if there had been a record player spinning vinyl in the rec room at that moment, the needle would most certainly have skipped across the disc and screeched to a halt.

  “You’ve never seen The Wizard of Oz?” Curtis blurted, amazed. “Now that, my friend, is crazy. Lucky for you, they play it twice a month on movie night, so this unacceptable deficiency of yours will soon be rectified.”

  “Movie night?”

  “Yeah, it’s basically this place’s version of putting the kids in front of the TV so the staff can go screw around while all the nutters just stare at the screen, drooling on themselves. Pretty much like parenting these days, actually. You know, turn on the TV, push play, and walk away. They don’t give us iPads, though. Even three-year-olds have iPads. I may need to file a complaint about that.”

  Looking over her shoulder to make sure no staff was nearby, she leaned in and whispered to him, “I have to get out of here.”

  “Everyone says that,” he whispered back. “Wait, why am I whispering?”

  “You don’t understand, I must get out,” she said, louder. “They’re not crossing over, at least a lot of them aren’t, though I don’t know how it is that some still are.”

  “Wait, who aren’t doing what?”

  “The dead. The dead aren’t going where they need to. If I don’t get back, there’s no telling how bad things might get.”

  “Bad?”

  “If I don’t return, then yes, very bad. For everyone.”

  “How bad are we talking here?” Curtis asked.

  “Streets overrun with the horribly injured but somehow alive. Population growth exploding as people don’t die. Eventual planetary collapse as resources simply cannot keep up with the sheer numbers of inhabitants.”

  “Okay, you made your point, but you said some were still crossing over. If you’re really Death, and you’re not doing your job at all since you’re here with us, how’s that even possible?”

  “I don’t know, but I hope to cross back over and set things right long before I would need to find out.”

  Curtis looked at her, contemplating what to do with his new friend, when she mentioned one more thing. Something that most certainly caught his attention.

  “And Curtis,” she gazed directly into his eyes, “Doctor Vaughan would never die.”

  With that his mind was made up.

  “All right, so I have a plan,” he chimed in.

  “Already?”

  “Yep. Desperate times, and all that. Plus I may have wanted to try this for a while, but the opportunity never presented itself.”

  “How so?”

  “Well, it hinges on what I call the clipboard effect. If you act like you belong somewhere, no one questions you, ya know? Carry a clipboard and look official and you can go almost anywhere. Add to that the fact that there’s pretty high burnout rate here among the staff and you’ve got a prime opportunity. Lots of turnover means lots of new faces, after all. The problem with any of us trying is they know all of us. The thing you’ve got going for you is you’re so new that you’ve only met a few of the staff. Honestly, you might be the first person who could actually pull it off.”

  “Pull what off?”

  Dorothy didn’t look like a patient that night as she navigated the halls of Camview. Her hair was different, for one, pulled back into a very business-like ponytail. More importantly, she was also wearing a long white lab coat Curtis had managed to pilfer for her.

  She strode quickly down the hall, stolen clipboard in hand.

  He was right, it’s amazing what you can do with a clipboard and some confidence, she marveled. Her pajama pants were carefully rolled up and hidden under the long coat, a “liberated” pair of ill-fitting white nurses’ shoes, courtesy of Curtis once again, shifted loosely on her feet with every step.

  His words played over and over in her head as she made her way down the hall.

  “Try to look tired and stressed out. You know, like you just pulled a twelve-hour shift and want nothing more than to go home. They all know that feeling, and it gives you a good reason to not talk to anyone. Just don’t walk too fast. You’re so new that almost no one knows your face yet. You could just be another new hire, for all they know, so if you do it right and stay calm, it might actually work.”

  As she strode down the hallway, she did her best to play the part Curtis had laid out for her, looking at the clipboard as if studying some work-related drudgery when she passed an orderly.

  Dressed as she was, and walking with confidence, she didn’t even warrant a second glance.

  Rounding the corner, she saw it, just as Curtis had described. A locked door at the far end of the long hallway, right at a T-intersection.

  “Time your arrival at the doors so you get there right behind someone with a key,” he had told her. “Just don’t make it obvious.”

  She had to force herself to slow her pace. She was alone in the hallway and approaching the door far too fast.

  Slow down. You’re getting ahead of yourself.

  She knew if she reached the door and had to turn back it would draw attention to her, and her escape attempt would likely be all over. No way they’d miss that kind of suspicious behavior from an unfamiliar face, even if she did look like she belonged.

  Step by step she closed the distance.

  Fifty feet away, then forty. Thirty.

  What do I do if I get hung up at the door? Can I stop and tie my shoe maybe? No, that’s too obvious…

  She was still getting there too fast. Dorothy tried to slow her pace even further without looking obvious about it, but another few seconds and she’d be in a serious bind.

  They’re looking this way. What now? She continued walking, trying her best to look calm, though she knew they’d realize something was wrong any second.

  The echo of footsteps rapidly approaching made the hairs on her neck to stand up.

  Don’t panic. Act normal.

  She knew it. Her goose was cooked. Somehow they had figured it out. An orderly was rushing down the hall right toward her.

  She felt her pulse quicken, but rather than grabbing her, he brushed right past, reaching to his belt, cursing as he fumbled with his keys, then finally yan
ked open the door in a hurry.

  “Hey, hold the door!” she called out.

  He turned, saw the coat and clipboard, and held the door as she hurried through.

  “Thanks,” she said, but he was already rushing to his destination, not giving her a second thought.

  It actually worked. I guess Curtis was right.

  “If you act like you belong, no one will question you,” he’d quipped.

  So far, so good.

  Once past the locked doors, Dorothy found it a bit easier to navigate the corridors. Finally, she looked up and saw the sign she was searching for. Staff Lockers.

  Okay, here we go.

  She knew this had the potential to be the most tricky part, though to be fair, Curtis’s whole plan was pretty much based on nothing more than bluffing and luck.

  “The really sketchy bit is going to be exiting through the staff locker room,” he had told her. “If you make it that far, that is. You’ll have to get there before anyone else, but then you can’t leave the premises until the shift change. If you try to go before then, the guards will take notice.”

  She tried the locker room door.

  Unlocked.

  Quietly, Dorothy slipped in and surveyed the area. Three parallel rows of industrial gray lockers with simple hardwood and steel benches bolted to the floor between them stood at one side of the room, an L-shaped wall blocking view to the open-plan showers. Just past those were the restrooms, again laid out in an open format, but the stalls at least had doors.

  She made her way to a middle stall, shutting the doors of the others as she passed to help divert attention from what would otherwise be her lone closed door, then she lowered the lid, locked the door, and took a seat, waiting for her chance.

  If anyone happened to check, all they’d see were the white shoes of a hospital worker and hopefully think nothing of it.

  An hour later, Curtis’s voice ran through her head as she heard the first few employees filter into the locker room.

  “You’ll need to hide out until the shift ends, but then you’ll need to get out of there quick, before anyone gets a good look at you.”

  She eased off the toilet, flushed for appearances sake, and opened the stall. Only a few people had arrived, and most were currently in the shower, which she took as a good omen as she headed out the exit door.

  “Now remember, there are cameras,” Curtis had warned her. “Security expects employees to exit at shift changes, so just be sure you’re out before the others. You don’t want to be answering questions about why they don’t recognize the new employee.”

  Making a beeline for the doors to the outside, Dorothy could almost smell the free air. She pushed, yet the door remained stubbornly shut.

  Shit!

  Again she pushed, this time harder, leaning her shoulder into it, and with a sticky hinge finally releasing, the door swung open with a pop.

  Remembering Curtis’s words, at the last moment she turned her face, hiding it from view while acting as if she was simply looking at something in her hands as she walked past the wall-mounted camera.

  “Manage all that, and you should be home free. Of course, this is all totally hypothetical, so don’t hold me to it,” he’d said with an impish grin.

  She quietly thanked her odd new friend, while wondering, could he be considered a friend when they’d only just met? Whatever the case, she was grateful for his help as she quickly walked away from Camview Psychiatric Hospital and into the frigid night air.

  CHAPTER 11

  Quite some time, and many cold miles later, Dorothy’s aching legs were pistoning in a steady rhythm, propelling her along on autopilot as her frozen feet carried her past the bare metal skeleton of a rusty, and thoroughly stripped, old sedan. Bracing herself against the chill as best she could in her insufficient attire, she wrapped her arms around herself as she fought against the frigid night air and pressed on.

  The temperature had dropped quickly, and she found herself faced with the familiar and quite uncomfortable sensation of being cold.

  Really cold.

  She trudged ahead, marching down the deserted street, watching her shadow grow tall and then shrink as she passed under each dim streetlight. Her eyes scanned farther up the way, where a flickering light from under a traffic bridge caught her attention.

  That looks like a fire, she thought, relishing the idea of someplace to warm her chilled bones. Finally, things might be looking up.

  She adjusted course and headed straight for the source of potential heat, knowing full-well that anyone could be lurking in the dark surrounding the bridge. Of course that could mean going home, and in any case, as cold as she was, she simply did not care.

  The aromatic waft of smoke from burning pallets greeted her as she drew closer, and could see that the flickering light was indeed fire-borne.

  Something else was there. Something that tickled the back of her neck. An uneasy vibe of sorts. Her senses sharpened to a razor’s edge as she approached, but as she listened to the crackling fire, she realized that there were no voices to be heard. She likewise noted that there were no flashing lights or sirens.

  I guess it’s as safe as it’s going to get, and what’s the worst that could happen?

  Cautiously, and desperately in need of warmth, she walked toward the corner of the underpass, preparing herself for whatever lay on the other side, just out of view.

  She was but a few steps from rounding the corner when her ill-fitting shoes crunched loudly on the broken glass that littered the area.

  Shit.

  The murky blotches the firelight reflected on the underpass morphed and changed as a dark form rose to its feet near the fire. The blurry figure was slowly given shape by the flickering light, the shifting of the shadows on the wall startling her as she realized what she’d awakened.

  A massive, three-headed dog’s silhouette solidified against the wall, growing as it lurched from its resting spot close to the blaze and slowly started moving in her direction. A low chorus of growls emitted from around the edge of the bridge’s thick stone base.

  At least it’s from my realm. I guess that’s something. I wonder, if a beast from the other side kills me, will I finally cross back over?

  With that thought hanging in the air before her, she pressed on, undeterred by the threatening rumbling from the beast’s throats.

  Dorothy was prepared to meet her possible demise, but when she turned the corner, she found herself actually disappointed.

  It was not one enormous, supernatural beast, but rather three large, and well-fed, dogs, their shadows blending together on the far wall to create a much larger silhouette in the semblance of a mythological beast.

  “It’s okay, it’s okay. Come on now, you three, calm down.” A scruffy, old vagrant spoke to the canines from his spot next to the fire, where he sat on an overturned crate. “Stop acting up and get back over here.”

  The dogs calmed at his voice but were still unsure of the intruder. After a long pause, they looked at Dorothy one last time, then back to the old man, finally deciding in unison to obey the hand that feeds them.

  “You look outta place, young lady,” the old-timer said as he warmed his hands by the fire. “You lost or somethin’?”

  “In a way,” she replied.

  “Well, don’t be shy. I don’t bite, and neither will they,” the old man said with a chuckle. “You look half-frozen. Come on, warm yourself by the fire. It’s a cold one tonight.”

  She didn’t need to be told twice and gladly accepted the invitation. As she stepped closer to the restorative heat, toasty-warm pleasure flowed toward her in waves as she rubbed her icy hands near the flames.

  The man raised an eyebrow as he skeptically took in her attire.

  “You aren’t really dressed for this weather.”

  “I… well, I hadn’t thought that far ahead.”

  For some reason her comment seemed to give the man pause as he once again looked her up and down with concern i
n his eyes.

  “You know, it’s really not safe for a pretty thing like you out here,” he finally said. “Once you’ve thawed out a bit, you might want to try the bus depot over on Sixth. It’s not the Ritz, but it’s warm, well-lit, and a lot safer than out here in the sticks.”

  Styx. I should be so lucky.

  She hadn’t seen another soul when she’d wandered under the bridge to the old-timer’s den and wondered what could be so unsafe about the area, but decided it wise to take the man at his word. He lived there, after all, and likely knew the real flavor of the neighborhood far better than a tourist in a borrowed lab coat and flimsy pajama pants. She’d go to the bus depot as he suggested, but first she would enjoy the hospitality of his fire just a little bit longer.

  The bus depot on Sixth hadn’t been that bad of a walk, all things considered, especially after she’d heated up for a spell by the fire. Of course, that was a double-edged sword, as once she’d savored the heat, it made the cold she faced as she walked away sting twice as sharp.

  The cavernous, echoing depot was indeed as the shaggy old man had described. Warmth flowed over Dorothy as she passed through its doors, effectively soothing the bite of the night air from her chilled flesh the moment she stepped inside. He had been correct about the other aspects of the locale as well.

  Well-lit, at least for a bus station well past midnight, it was populated by many others seeking refuge from the night’s cold. There was safety in numbers as well, always a concern among vagrant communities.

  She scanned the benches and noted that there were all sorts present. Women, men, some teenage runaways, all without a home to call their own, and all glad for a safe place to spend the night.

  The Ritz it was not, indeed, but it would do just fine.

  Interspersed with the homeless who called this place home, were backpackers, both domestic and international, as well as exhausted budget travelers, dozing on benches, lying on the floor using their luggage as a pillow, or crashed out up against a wall as they tried to catch a bit of shut-eye before their early morning departures.