Living the Good Death

by Scott Baron

  “Oh, man, this is such a great movie!” he gushed. Dorothy looked at him skeptically.

  “Oh?”

  “That’s some classic Nicholson,” Randy interjected. “Though the whole mental institution aspect was a bit of a downer. Good thing there aren’t awful facilities like that anymore.”

  “Yeah,” Curtis quickly chimed in. “I hear those places are much more cheerful nowadays, and run by really kind-hearted people to boot. Isn’t that right, Dorothy?” He gave her a look, and to his relief, she got the hint.

  “Oh, um, yeah. What he said.” Curtis nearly cringed at her lack of enthusiasm. It was not an Oscar-worthy performance, but it would have to suffice.

  “Hey, guys,” Randy said, “I don’t want you to think you have to leave on my account, but I’ve got an early meeting with my gallery owner tomorrow, so I’ve got to get home for the night. Sorry to cut out on ya.”

  “It’s all good,” said Curtis. “We’re coming.”

  He jammed his hands in his pockets and strolled toward the door, waving a cheerful goodnight to the cashier on the way out. Dorothy and Randy didn’t notice the DVD-shaped bulge in his coat pocket, and fortunately for him, neither did the clerk.

  “That was an excellent suggestion, Randy,” he said as they stepped out into the night. “Truly excellent.”

  He nudged Dorothy and raised an eyebrow as a thought illuminated his brain.

  “Stan’s working days next week,” he whispered to her conspiratorially.

  Okay? she thought. And I care about that why, exactly?

  “Hey Randy,” he blurted, “Dorothy was wondering if you’re free next Wednesday night for another outing. Whaddya say?”

  Wait, I what? She flashed a perplexed look at Curtis, who promptly ignored it.

  “Wednesday? I’ll still be out of town visiting my daughter. Can we do Thursday?”

  “Yeah, we can do Thursday,” Curtis replied.

  “In that case, yeah. That’d be great,” Randy replied, pleased by the promise of another evening out with the girl he’d taken a shine to, even if it meant her goofy roommate would likely be tagging along again as well.

  “Cool, we’ll come meet ya. Same place at ten.” Curtis had it all planned out. “See ya then!” he called out, taking Dorothy by the arm as they went their separate ways.

  “Okay, see you then,” Randy replied. “Looking forward to it!”

  “Yeah, me too. See you later,” was all Dorothy managed as she was pulled off down the street. She noticed he was really picking up the pace.

  “What’s the hurry, Curtis?”

  “I forgot, Nurse Myra called in sick today, and I don’t know who they got to cover for her. We should be okay, Stan almost never works doubles, but I don’t want to press our luck.”

  Back in Camview’s dimmed halls, a lone orderly walked the hallway on his periodic sweep of the patient wings.

  Curtis and Dorothy had quickly changed into their patient attire in the boiler room, waiting until they heard his footsteps fade before they emerged from their secret escape. They crept silently down the hall toward their rooms. When they arrived at Dorothy’s closed door, she gave it a gentle tug, opening it with barely a sound.

  “Okay, I’ll see you in the morning,” she whispered. “And hey, I didn’t say it before, but thanks for coming along. That really went well, and I’m glad you were there. We’ll talk more about it in the morning. I don’t know why, but I think somehow Randy and his watch may be tied up in why I’m stuck here. It’s good to have another set of eyes on things, and I want your take on it.”

  “My pleasure. And besides, it was really fun. He seems like a good guy.”

  “You think?”

  “Yeah, I do. Anyway, get some sleep. We’ve got plenty of time to talk tomorrow.”

  Dorothy slipped quietly into her room and eased the door shut behind her.

  Curtis turned and stealthed—yes, it was a verb in Curtis’s own personal lexicon—down the hall toward his room.

  As he rounded the corner, his face ran smack into a very large chest.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” an intimidating voice rumbled.

  Big Stan.

  Apparently, this was one of those rare occasions where he did pick up the overtime shift.

  “Oh, hi, Stan. I’m just out for a stroll. You know, good for the circulation.”

  “You know the rules,” the large man growled as he took Curtis by the arm, dragging him toward his room. “No wandering allowed after lights-out.”

  Stan pulled his door open and unceremoniously dumped Curtis on his bed.

  “Stay put,” he said, then shut the door.

  “Will do. Thank you, Stanley,” Curtis called through the door. “And a lovely evening to you too!” he added for good measure.

  The weeks that followed were relatively uneventful, at least compared to prior ones. Dorothy made several attempts to gain access to the alleged Horseman of the Apocalypse, but she found herself thwarted at every turn as she tried to reach the man claiming to be Pestilence. The one man who claimed he could get her back where she belonged.

  Finally, her luck seemed to change for the better when he was moved from the isolation lockdown wing back to his old room. His door was still locked at all times, but at least she could talk to him. For some reason, however, he had gone silent, and no matter what she said, her pleas for information went unanswered.

  In lieu of grilling him for details on how to return to her own realm, Dorothy resolved to fully commit herself to investigating the odd blue watch, and the man who owned it. At least for the time being.

  It had all begun immediately after being distracted by the shiny timepiece that fateful day. It was her hope that pursuing that lead would get her home. It might even provide a far better way back than whatever option Pestilence might have.

  Curtis and Dorothy were fortunate, for a stretch. Big Stan had taken to working the day shifts with some regularity, leaving them free, or at least with a better likelihood to sneak out come the late-shift. They had kept their outings relatively simple, namely meeting up with Randy on Fridays. They also occasionally managed to sneak out on other nights, adventures during which they simply explored the city, keeping an eye out for possible clues to help speed Dorothy’s return.

  Dorothy didn’t mind the excursions, even if they were unfruitful. It was fascinating to her, seeing all these different and new things.

  Another constant was that whatever they were up to on the outside, every night when they returned, Dorothy would stop and seek answers at Pestilence’s door, just in case.

  And every night, he would not reply.

  CHAPTER 20

  The television anchors had a “serious” look for delivering disturbing news. It was a look Dorothy was hoping to see with more regularity.

  Some things were still fatal, she was thrilled to learn. Decapitation. Being crushed by several tons of debris, or blown into little pieces. Of course there were other equally horrific ways of dying that seemed to be inescapable despite her absence, but the drama-hungry mainstream media didn’t seem to follow those stories.

  Nevertheless, knowing the slack was being picked up, at least for the most egregious deaths, put Dorothy’s mind a tiny bit more at ease. If only she knew exactly who was helping, and just how much they were doing in her absence. Working from hypotheticals frustrated her to no end.

  As she lay in her bed in the darkest hours of the night, she would often find herself painfully awake, staring at the ceiling as her mind kept churning away. While some people would perhaps relax every muscle, from their toes to their ears, or count fluffy, white sheep until they drifted off, Dorothy passed the time with math. It was a somewhat morbid calculation she had fixated on, but if it helped pass the time, why not?

  One hundred years, give or take.

  That was how long she figured humanity had until the un-deaths reached critical mass. She couldn’t be sure, though, as she was basing her estimates from
the very rough numbers extrapolated from assorted news reports. Also not figured into her calculations was what would happen when the existing medical system was simply overwhelmed by the massive increase in patients sucking up resources in the days to come.

  One hundred years? That was a best-case scenario. Realistically, things would most likely get a whole lot worse, a whole lot faster.

  For all her worrying, however, none of her fears were developing in a manner visible to the rest of the world. She had only been gone a few months, and the ripple effect hadn’t even begun to spread. To anyone she spoke to, her talk about the dead overflowing the world seemed like pure crazy-talk.

  Just wait until the bodies really start piling up, she consoled herself. But if I can just figure out how to set this right, they’ll never even know.

  For just a second, she found herself wishing things actually would fall apart, just to prove she wasn’t crazy.

  No. The world is managing for the moment, and vindicating as that might be, I have a job to do. If that damned Horseman won’t help, then my best hope lies with Randy and that weird talisman watch.

  Despite the seriousness of the matter, a slight smile found its way to her lips at the thought of their next outing.

  As the clock ticked closer to midnight, Dorothy, Randy, and Curtis found themselves gallivanting once more, a merry trio running amok in one of the older parts of town, where quirk hadn’t yet been priced out by chic.

  More than a month had passed since their first meeting, and several enjoyable nights of banter were firmly tucked under their belts. It was a short time, at least in the grand scheme of things, but as happens when like-minded individuals meet, the three had become thick as thieves in no time at all.

  They wandered the streets, exploring. The majority of the shops had closed much, much earlier, leaving but a few stragglers cruising the sidewalks with them at that late hour.

  As the trio made their way down the quiet road, Dorothy and Randy seemed to subconsciously gravitate closer to one another. Curtis had noticed Randy’s frequent glances, and, being the friend that he was, he continuously, yet nonchalantly, nudged them closer together when opportunity arose as they strolled.

  Dorothy paused, the chipped and faded gilt lettering in the window of a used book store catching her eye in the dim light. Dante’s Books, it read.

  Why is that name so familiar? She furrowed her brow in thought before it came rushing back to her.

  That first night heading to the diner with Curtis.

  The two Goth girls.

  A way to cross back.

  “Okay, I guess we’re going in here,” Curtis noted as Dorothy barreled right past him and Randy, moving full steam ahead toward the front door. The bell mounted to the doorframe sounded a faint jingle as she breezed across the threshold.

  The boys followed her in, and found themselves browsing around the unusual little shop, seeing what interesting treasures they might uncover. Dorothy, however, had a sense of purpose, if only she could zero in on what she was looking for.

  With no real target in mind, but knowing it had to be there somewhere, she scanned the store again and again until finally something caught her eye.

  There we go, she thought as she strode to a small section of shelves with a small sign that read Occult marking its contents.

  It was a collection of mostly new editions, but the shelves were home to a few older, cloth and leather-bound tomes as well. She gazed at the rows of titles, her eyes dancing across the spines of the books as she searched for something that might provide a few answers, or better yet, might even help her get back where she belonged.

  The pale, goateed shopkeeper noticed the slender girl in black staring particularly intently at the shelves in that section.

  He sat quietly, observing her for a few moments from his perch across the room, then slowly rose to his feet, carefully placing a worn, paper marker in his book before casually gliding over to the section of somewhat obscure books where his unusual young customer stood.

  “Looking for anything in particular?” he asked the girl who thought she was Death.

  “I… I don’t know,” she replied. What exactly am I looking for, anyway?

  Studying her with a knowing look, the old shopkeeper asked, “Well, then, what sort of thing did you have in mind?”

  She paused, not knowing how to phrase it in any coherent, non-crazy-sounding manner. She looked into the eyes of the kindly man and decided to just be frank.

  “Okay,” she began, “say, for example, what if a supernatural entity was somehow trapped in a human body against their will? How would they free themselves?”

  “A ghost, or something more… powerful?”

  “Not a ghost.”

  The shopkeeper looked at her with a gaze not of skepticism, but rather with an engaged and intrigued look on his face. He thought for a moment, then mounted a small ladder, climbing near to a very high section of the shelf.

  “Ah, I see,” he said, scanning the covers. “That’s a tough one. What did this being do wrong, if you don’t mind my asking?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Hmmm, interesting. One would normally assume it was punishment of some sort, but could it possibly be something else? A quest, perhaps?”

  I swear, old man, if I knew I’d tell you.

  “Like I said, I don’t know,” she replied.

  A bemused look flashed across his face. “I see. Well, that is a pickle indeed.”

  “Tell me about it,” Dorothy groused.

  The man’s fingers slowed as he scanned the spines of a few older editions until they rested on one particularly aged and worn book.

  “Ah, yes. There it is,” he said, pulling it free from the shelf. “It’s an older edition, but this may be of some use. I think you’ll find chapter eleven particularly interesting.”

  “How much?”

  “It’s not in the best of condition, so for you, let’s say seven dollars, tax included.”

  She pulled a few crumpled bills from her pocket and handed them to the man as he slid the book into a paper bag for her.

  “You know,” he posited, “in a situation such as you described, one would usually expect some sort of otherworldly assistance. It’s almost expected, in fact. Maybe an oracle, or a talisman, or perhaps a guide of some sort.”

  A thought flashed. A guide, indeed. Like someone who knows how to get me home for instance. And an oracle… Her mind replayed the words of the drunken man on the street. The man who knew so much about an antique blue pocketwatch. The keeper of the blue watch, perhaps? Is he the key? Is the watch? But then what about Pestilence? Could he be a guide? As a Horseman, it would make sense. He’s still the most likely way back.

  The shopkeeper watched her standing there, furrowing her brow with interest. Dorothy quickly realized she was making a bit of a scene, albeit a silent one.

  “Well… great. Thank you so much for your help!” she chirped and headed for the door. Curtis noticed and tugged Randy’s sleeve.

  “Hey dude, I think this means we’re going. Dorothy, wait for us!”

  “Man, she’s moving. I wonder what’s up,” Randy blurted, a bit surprised at her sudden departure. Curtis, for once, was equally out of the loop.

  “Don’t know, but she’s heading toward home. I guess we’re calling it a night. We’ll catch ya next week, okay?”

  “Sounds good.”

  “Cool, see ya then!” Curtis said, then spun to catch up to his fast-walking friend. “Hey, wait up!”

  “You will tell me.”

  Silence.

  Dorothy was crouched by Pestilence’s door, looking far more intense than usual, and for a girl who thought she was Death, that really was saying something.

  I’d bust this door down if I could, you uncooperative little— She took a breath and forced herself to calm down. When she spoke again she sounded in control and sure of herself.

  “You have no choice in this. You will tell me what I ask
of you, Horseman.”

  She heard a slight rustling behind the closed door. Then, after so many days of silence, he finally spoke to her.

  “Oh, will I now?” he chuckled, amused rather than intimidated by her tone.

  “Yes,” she answered, angry and confident.

  “You sure about that?” He continued to chuckle. She was about to answer when she caught sight of an orderly making rounds at the far end of the hall. Again, her plans were interrupted by fate.

  It will have to wait.

  “When you get out,” she muttered, an unsettling, cold certainty in her voice, “you and I are going to have a little chat.”

  A rumbling, phlegmy laugh began to rise from his room. With attention drawn her way, she stood and did the one thing she could.

  She played crazy and walked right toward the orderly.

  “Back to your room,” the man said. “You can’t be out wandering at night.”

  “No wandering, no wandering, yes, yes, to the room,” she babbled, then scampered down the hall, pausing for just a moment at one of the chalkboards covered with patients’ scribbles and designs, deftly snagging a piece of chalk and tucking it in her waistband as she continued on her way.

  Back in the familiar confines of her room, Dorothy wrapped her pale hands around the tubular metal frame of her bed and quietly pulled it from the wall, creating a blank canvas of floor space, easily hidden by sliding the bed back in place. Fortunately the legs weren’t long. They didn’t want patients who fell from bed to hurt themselves, so unless someone was on all fours, they’d never see clearly under the bed.

  Dorothy sat on the floor and crossed her legs, easing into a comfortable position as she opened her new book to a dog-eared page. She skimmed for a while, ascertaining which sections might be of the most use to her.

  One chapter had multiple incantations and runes that seemed appropriate, and after carefully studying the symbols for a bit, she cautiously, and ever-so-slowly, began drawing them on the floor.