| |
So I’m sitting at the front desk at two in the morning, annotating the shit out of Paradise Lost and trying not to fall asleep when the lights go out. Just for a few seconds, and then they blink back on, and I hear the computer reboot.
That’s when one of the residents starts shouting. I wait, fluorescent yellow highlighter poised above Eve’s transgression, hoping that Yesenia or Diane will handle it, but the shouting continues, eventually morphing into a full-fledged scream. There’s a faint crash. Then a louder, denser thump. I scan the monitors, but they’re still coming online. Diane is in the break room, probably with her earbuds in, watching something on her phone. No sign of Yesenia. She’s most likely in the parking lot with her boyfriend, Freddy. He drives a tow truck and every so often he swings by and Yesenia goes out “for a smoke break” and she and Freddy do whatever it is that tow truck drivers and their girlfriends do in the cabs of tow trucks at two in the morning. She knows that there are always supposed to be three of us in the building. But since she’s in charge of the graveyard shift, what can I do? The screaming abates for a moment and I relax. A safety alarm goes off.
“Shit!” I slam my Milton shut, switch off the alarm and check the room (it’s Mr. Franklin) and head down the east wing corridor.
The screaming gets louder and less intelligible the closer I get. A few residents have poked their heads out of their rooms, like curious prairie dogs. For the most part, the old folks have difficulty sleeping through the night, and although we discourage it, they sometimes come out and sit in the lounge or to visit us at the front desk. Others spend their nights alone in their rooms watching old movies and infomercials. But this group was woken up, and that’s saying something about the force of Mr. Franklin’s screaming. The old bastard can flat-out wail. They clutch their terrycloth robes over their pajamas with bony, spotted fists, eyes wide with concern. Probably thinking, another one gone?
“What’s happening, Kyle?”
“Is it a fire?”
“Who died?”
I pat the air, making placating gestures. “Everything’s fine. Mr. Franklin fell out of bed again. You can all go back to your rooms.”
No good. They shuffle along behind me, their slippers swishing along the white linoleum. They don’t know me as well as they do the day staff. In fact, this is the first time I’ve seen most of them vertical. Usually, during my shift (eleven to seven) my interactions take place in their rooms, either giving them their meds or answering calls.
I put my head back and call out at the top of my lungs. “Yesenia!” Shouting in the corridor at two am is usually frowned upon, but at this point It doesn’t matter. Nobody could sleep through this. Diane shows up and starts crowd control, trying to herd the residents back to their rooms, but they’re not having any of it. This is SOMETHING NEW, and that’s rare.
I approach Mr. Franklin’s door at a quick walk. His door is partially open, which is unusual, but it explains why his scream is so loud. Even though he’s still in full voice, I don’t see him at first. It’s dark, and I flip the light switch, but only one of the overhead fluorescents sputters on. Mr. Franklin sits, huddled in the corner, one gnarled fist curled up in his mouth, his other arm extended, pointing at the window. I barely register the pool of urine beneath him as I gaze where he’s pointing.
Everything (and I mean EVERYTHING) in his room is piled up against the window. It’s like his room was tipped sideways and all his stuff slid against the window. A chair—no, two chairs. His dresser, a drawer half open and his sad old man clothes hanging out. The TV sits precariously atop the dresser. It looks like it might tumble to the floor at any moment, so I go over and gently put it on the floor. It’s tough finding a place to stand because books and magazines are scattered all over the floor beneath the window. I slide on a copy of Time and send it skittering across the floor. A couple of shattered picture frames lay broken, beneath the bed, which is on end leaning against the window. And those hospital beds are wicked heavy. The more doodads they have, the more they weigh. And this one is at least three hundred pounds. So how the hell did this weak old man—who barely walks—move all his shit, including his bed, up against the window? And, oh yeah, he’s still screaming.
I go to him, crouch down. The other residents, along with Diane, have started wandering in, murmuring and commenting. It’s kind of hard to hear though, because Mr. Franklin WILL NOT STOP SCREAMING.
“Hey. Hey.” I kneel beside him and put a reassuring hand on his shoulder. His scream falters for a second, and he looks at me. “Hey, Mr. Franklin, it’s me, Kyle. Do you know me?”
I cringe, anticipating another scream as his mouth opens (I’m remembering how my brother, when he was really little and crying, would sometimes do that thing where they look at you, stop crying, take a deep breath, and just WAIL.) but he snaps it shut. As much as a toothless mouth can snap, that is.
He gulps once, blinks his yellow, watery eyes, then says, in a raspy voice (and who can blame him, after all that screaming), “There was something outside my window. Then it came in my room.”
I turn back to the furniture piled up by the window. I motion at it. “Did you do this?”
He looks at the massive pile of furniture, clothing, books, pictures, lamps, and sneers at me. “I couldn’t lift all that, you jackass.” Good old Mr. Franklin.
“La puta madre!”I hear from behind me.
Oh thank goodness. Yesenia is here.
An hour later, the place is quiet. We got Mr. Franklin sedated and moved to an empty room, and all the other residents are back in their rooms. Diane is doing some tubing changes. I'm filling out the incident report and Yesenia strolls up, unrolls her rubber gloves and tosses them in a trash can. She’s a few years older than me and has been working at Vista Del Lago Senior Living for about three years to my six months.
Vista Del Lago means “Lake View” but a better name would be “shitty pond view”. There’s not much of a lake, and not much of a view. The “lake” is actually behind the home, and to view it, you have to walk all the way around, past the employee parking lot and the equipment shed. That’s where they keep the landscaping equipment: a rake, a ladder, a wheelbarrow with a flat tire and the riding mower Carl uses. It’s also a good to place to scarf a beer or two once in awhile.
There are a couple of benches set up, and the residents like to sit and stare at the oily water. We have to keep an eye on them, so we have a camera set up and we can check the monitor at the front desk, because according to rumor, a resident walked into the lake a few years back and almost drowned. The admin thought about draining it, but then (this is still according to rumor) they would have had to change the name of the facility, and apparently, that would not have been cost effective. So a compromise was reached. A sign stating “Caution: No Swimming” with a little picture of a swimming figure with a big slash through him. Like any of these folks are going to go swimming.
Yesenia plants herself on the end of the desk. She says, “Hey.”
“Hey, what? Thanks for nothing, by the way. Where were you?”
Unlike me, Yesenia’s an actual nurse. I’m a “nursing assistant”. That’s what it says on my badge. I never took any nursing classes or anything. I’m an English major.
“I was busy,” is all she says.
“Well, I could have used your help,” I mumble.
She bats her big dark eyes at me. “Niño, you had it under control.”
I go back to my work. She wants something.
“So Kyle ... ?”
“Yeah?”
Her voice is unsure, which is unlike her. Yesinia is usually large and in charge. “Did you notice anything weird about what happened?”
“I thought it was all pretty fucking weird, if you really want to know.”
She stares at me, thinking. Yesenia usually says what’s on her mind; she’s not a thinker, so this gets me thinking. I look up at her.
“What’s bothering you?”
“Did you notice anything funny about Mr. LaFica?”
I shrug. Mr. LaFica was one of the prairie dogs I had to escort back to their rooms after all the excitement. “What about him?” I look at my watch and fill out a time square on the med chart.
“How did he get out of his room?” Yesenia asks.
My pen stops. She’s right. Mr. LaFica is in his mid-eighties, and he hasn’t walked since I’ve been there. In fact, he needs help just getting in and out of bed. He’s pleasant enough. A little, wiry guy with thick eyebrows over eyes that are perpetually squinting because he’s nearly blind. Big black glasses with thick lenses. He kind of reminds me of Mr. Magoo. I hadn't even noticed he wasn’t in his wheelchair.
“Maybe someone helped him?” I offer.
She shakes her head. “I doubt it. Did you notice him out of his room when you first got to Mr. Franklin’s room?”
“I'm not sure,” I start. Is she accusing me of something? “I was on my own, you know, since you were nowhere to be found, and it was pretty hectic.”
She hops off the desk. “Forget it. I’m going to restock the carts.”
I grunt in return but say nothing else. I’m still pissed at her for ditching me. But after the sound of her footsteps fade, I’m still thinking. How did Mr. LaFica get out of his room?
When I show up at work, Carl pulls me into the break room to find out what happened last night. He says Mr. Blandon, the facility administrator (aka our boss), was really, really pissed off about the state of Mr. Franklin’s room. Carl’s name tag lists him as “Dietician”, but he doesn’t cook anything. Like me, he does a little bit of everything, from changing feeding tubes to wheeling residents out to the “lake” to being a bingo caller on Tuesdays. His specialty is repairing broken or damaged equipment. He’s got a real feel for that stuff. He even replaced the water pump on my car a few weeks ago. Saved me a shitload of money.
I tell him what I know. Mr. Franklin started screaming, his alarm went off, and what I found when I got to his room.
“Blandon had me spend all day moving furniture and fixing the window. That bed is pretty much busted. Don’t know if we can fix it.”
“Do you think I’m in trouble? I mean, it wasn’t my fault. But I was at the desk.”
He shakes his head. “He said something about having a responsibility and possible lawsuits and blah blah blah. I wouldn’t worry too much about it. “
I vow to myself to be the best employee I can be from that point forward. This is something I vow at least once a week. And I mean it, I really do. But sometimes... stuff happens.
I ask him how Mr. Franklin is doing and Carl smiles. “That crusty old bastard is back to normal. He says he likes his new room better and won’t move back.”
“How does Blandon feel about that?”
“He’s cool, says he wants to keep Franklin happy.”
As we step out into the main corridor, Mr. LaFica walks by. Walks. No chair, no walker, no glasses, no nothing. Carl and I both watch him pass, then look at each other.
“What do you think of that?” I ask.
He shrugs. “It happens sometimes. Maybe the screaming got him all worked up and he got out of bed by himself before he knew what he was doing, and then he’s all like, ‘Damn! I got out of bed all by myself! I’m not as weak as I thought I was!’.”
I let this bounce around in my head for a few seconds. “Is that really what you think?”
“Sure. Why not? It makes as much sense as anything else,” Carl replies.
“But isn’t he almost blind? How do you explain that?”
Carl shrugs.
I ask, “Did anyone talk to him? Ask him about how he could walk all of a sudden?”
“I talked to him while I changed his bedding today, asked him what happened. All he really said was ‘It’s about time,’ or something like that. Kept changing the subject. Asking me questions. Lots of questions.” Carl looked thoughtful, his massive brow wrinkling.
“Does he have any family? Did someone call to let them know he’s ambulatory?” (I like using the jargon once in a while. It makes me feel smarter, and you never know who might be listening.)
He shakes his head. “Nah. he doesn’t have any family. Just us.”
This is probably the hardest thing about this business. The people who have no one. Just forgotten. Sure, when they first move in and the family visits once a week, then once a month, but then... For some of these poor bastards, it’s like dropping off an old dog at the door of animal control. It’s your problem now.
Carl turns to go, then stops. ”Something else weird. He spent all afternoon with Mrs. Mendez.”
“That is weird.” Mrs. Mendez never talked to anyone. She was another one of the residents who never had visitors. She kept to herself, nice and polite, but never socialized, never watched TV with the others, never did any activities. She read a lot. “What were they talking about?”
“I don’t know. They were in the common room on the couch. Just talking. For like three hours. I had to force them to go eat dinner.”
I spend most of my shift doing rounds: bed checks, passing out meds and generally being a presence. Yesenia is on her best behavior as well, all smiley and efficient. I stick my head in Mr. Franklin’s old room and see that Carl has done an admirable job of putting it back together. Everything is back where it’s supposed to be, although the hospital bed looks a little tweaked out of shape. All the broken glass and plaster has been swept up. And the window is patched over with a sheet of plywood. Large cracks lead from the edges of the window up and down the wall, and plaster is crumbled away in several places. The room still needs work, and Blandon can’t be happy about that. “Empty beds equal empty wallets”, he says sometimes. Before I leave the room, I look at the window again, or what’s left of it. What the hell happened in here?
As I make my way through the east wing, clipboard and pen in hand, I hear strange sounds coming from my left. I check the roster. Mrs. Mendez’s room. I pause just outside the door. Sounds like someone’s in pain. I decide not to call Yesenia. I can handle this. I open the door and step inside, and instantly wish I hadn't.
Mrs. Mendez is in bed all right, but she’s not alone. She’s currently astride Mr. LaFica, who has a dreamy look on his face as he gropes her withered old body. Both of them are stark naked. She glances over at me but doesn’t stop grinding.
“We like this!” says Mrs. Mendez with an enthusiastic smile. LaFica opens his eyes, sees me, and nods vigorously.
I start to say something, but really, what can I say? Be careful? Have fun? Instead, I nod and say quietly, “Sorry to interrupt,” and back out into the hallway.
Yesenia is at the front desk, typing away on the computer. She looks up at me with one eye, the other on her screen. I don’t know how she does it, but she does.
“Nice and quiet tonight. Freddy will not be stopping by, in case you’re interested.”
“Awesome,” I say, unable to get the image of Mrs. Mendez's withered, naked, gyrating form out of my mind. “Have you noticed anything strange about Mrs. Mendez?”
“Mrs. Mendez?” Yesenia stops typing. “Yeah. I did. She refused to take her meds tonight. She usually takes Flurazepam to help her sleep; she’s got insomnia and mostly watches TV all night, but she flat-out refused to take her meds. I didn’t press because it’s only one night, but I put a note on her chart. Come to think of it, that’s the longest conversation I’ve ever had with her.” She meets my eyes. “Why are you asking?”
I sigh. “Well, she and Mr. La Fica are doing the nasty right now.”
Her jaw drops. The only sound is the air being pushed through the ceiling vents and the hiss of a car passing by outside.
“No way. I gotta see this.” She stands up and starts down the hallway. I follow. But at a distance. I’ve already seen enough. She reaches Mrs. Mendez’s door and quietly opens it and peeks inside. A few seconds pass. She says something I can’t hear and pulls back out into the hallway. She gently closes the door. She looks at me, then walks back to the front desk.
“What?” I ask. “What happened?”
She blinks her heavy lashes a few times, starts to speak, stifles a giggle. “They asked me to join them.”
I open my mouth, but I have no response to this.
About fifteen minutes later, during rounds, I hear a door click open and see Mr. LaFica’s robed form tiptoe out of Mrs. Mendez’s room. This frail old man, who up until last night hadn't walked in at least two years, does a quick dance move across the bright tile floor. He spins, sees me, and stops. Gives me an enthusiastic thumbs up and continues back to his room.
The rest of the night is quiet. I took a look at Mr. LaFica’s chart and nothing is different. Same meds, same diet, same rehab. So what has changed? The same for Mrs. Mendez. Nothing in her chart shows anything that might explain this sudden ... change in behavior.
The next night Carl pulls me aside and asks quietly, “You seen a wheelchair around here?”
“I’ve seen a lot of wheelchairs around here.”
“No, man. I mean, you seen a wheelchair around that ain't where it’s supposed to be? A power one.”
“You lost a wheelchair?”
His face darkens. “I didn’t lose shit. Since Mr. LaFica doesn’t need his wheelchair no more, Blandon told me to get it and put it in storage, but it ain’t in his room.”
“Did you ask LaFica where it was?” Carl just looks down at me, and I can see he’s getting annoyed. I hold out my hands. “Okay, sorry. No, I haven’t seen it. But I’ll keep my eyes open.”
He glances over both shoulders, like he’s about to tell a racist joke. “Look, don’t say nothing to nobody. If he finds out it’s missing, Blandon’ll blame me. Those electric wheelchairs are expensive.”
I nod encouragingly. “Don’t worry, big guy. We’ll find it.”
But we don’t. At least I don’t.
Tonight is going by pretty slow. Nice and quiet. I'm just finishing the midnight meds (the “M and M’s” we call them. Oh, the fun we have) and I pause outside Mrs. Mendez’s room. I put my ear to the door. No squeaking. No moaning. I knock. No answer. I open the door and stick my head inside, eyes closed.
“Mrs. Mendez? Time for your medicine.” No response. No sound at all. I open my eyes. The bed is empty. It doesn’t even look slept in.
Before I panic, I cross over and down the other wing to LaFica’s room. Same routine. I listen. Nothing, so I knock. No response. I open the door, and again, the bed is empty. Shit!
I race to the front desk, but Yesenia isn’t there. Shit. Shit. Shit.
I hear voices and spin on my heels. I find her in the common room, sitting with one of the residents, Mr. Martin. He’s a character. Has these crackpot theories about aliens and UFO’s. He even claims to have been abducted when he was a kid. They’re sitting at a table with a half-finished jigsaw puzzle of Big Ben on it. Mr. Martin’s got all kinds of star charts and notebooks with writing all over them. He’s holding a calculator in one hand as he lectures to Yesenia.
“...which is why the Tardashians are the most feared race in—”
I slide to a halt, and try not to let the panic show on my face.
Mr. Martin looks at me. “You look ... uh ... troubled, son. Are you all right?”
I nod. “Oh sure, sure. Everything’s great.” I turn to Yesenia. “ Hey, uhh, Yesenia, can I see you for a minute?” I nudge my head toward the front desk a couple times. She picks up on it and stands.
“Sorry, Riley, but I have to go now. Don’t stay up too late.”
He laughs. “Don’t worry, darling. I just have to finish these calculations, such as mathematical equations, formulas, and uhh, things of that nature.”
Yesenia has to hurry to match my pace as I lead her back to front desk.
“What’s going on?” she demands. “What happened?”
I stop and quietly tell her. Her face goes pale and she curses. “Okay, I’ll check the dining room and sweep the halls. You check—” She stares over my shoulder and gasps.
I spin around, expecting to see Blandon, but instead who comes strolling in through the front doors—without a care in the world—but Mr. LaFica and Mrs. Mendez, arm in arm. They beam when they see us. Big goofy smiles. I notice he has mud stains on his knees and his pajama shirt is buttoned wrong. Mrs. Mendez’s hair is all messed up.
“Hello. Good morning,” Mrs. Mendez nods.
Still smiling, Mr La Fica turns to her and holds up an admonishing finger and says, “Good evening. It is evening now.”
Without losing her dopey smile, she repeats, “Good evening.”
Yesenia steps in their way, hands on hips. “Just a minute. Where have you two been? Do you know what time it is? We’ve been looking everywhere for you!” This last part’s not exactly true, but that’s not important.
They look taken aback.
“Oh,” says Mr. La Fica.
“Oh,” says Mrs. Mendez.
“We are very sorry for causing you ...” LaFica puzzles for the right word.
“Harm!” Mrs. Mendez says gleefully. “We are sorry for causing you harm!”
“Um, you didn’t really harm us,” I start to say, but Yesenia cuts me off.
“You could have been harmed yourselves! You could have fallen in the lake, or walked into the road! We’re going to have to write this up.”
They both look abashed, the way a dog looks when it’s caught eating the cat’s food. I almost feel sorry for them, but then remember how scared I had been.
“We are sorry,” Mr. LaFica replies. “We meant no trouble. We were looking at the beautiful sky.”
Oh yes!” Mrs. Mendez exclaims. “We love looking at the stars!”
“The stars,” repeats Mr. LaFica.
Yesenia and I exchange a glance. As far as I know, neither one of these two has been outside at night in the last six months.
We walk them back to their rooms and make sure they get settled, turn down their lights, and head back to where I left the cart.
I ask, “Are you really going to write them up?”
“Hell no, “Yesenia says. “You know how much trouble we’d get in if Blandon found out we lost two old folks?”
I think about the missing wheelchair. “It’s been a strange couple of days.”
“You know what’s even stranger?” Yesenia asks, checking the front doors to make sure they’re locked.
“What?”
“Those two said they were outside looking at the stars?”
“Yeah?”
She shakes head, clearly confused. “But it’s overcast tonight. There's no way they were looking at stars.”
***
I show up to work, just hoping to get through my shift without any problems. I have a huge essay hanging over my head. Diane is at the front desk. She smiles and nods.
“Hey, Kyle?”
“Yeah?” I answer, stashing my backpack under the desk and pulling out my laptop. “What’s up?” This is unusual. Diane and I never really speak. I think she resents me for some reason.
“Did you... or do you know anything about what happened to the motor from Mr. Franklin’s bed?”
“Mr. Franklin’s bed? What are you talking about?”
She rolls her eyes. Stupid kid, she’s probably thinking. She speaks very slowly. “The motor is missing from Mr. Franklin’s bed. The one in his old room. Do you know anything about it?”
I shake my head. “No. I have no idea. Did you ask Carl?”
“Carl was the one who told me about it.” There’s a slight edge to her voice. Does she think I took it? “So you don’t know anything about it?”
I stand up and plug in my laptop. “No. What would I do with the motor for a hospital bed?”
“I don’t know. But there have been some other things missing lately. “
She walks away, giving me a weird look. I resolve to become a model employee so as to alleviate all possible suspicion.
It’s quiet tonight, but as I’ve discovered lately, that's not always a good thing. But tonight, maybe it is a good thing. I requested desk duty so I can get some schoolwork done.
I’m on the fourth page of my essay on Milton’s concept of Free Will when Yesenia sidles up to me, cell phone in hand, and coyly asks me if I mind if she goes out and “talks to Freddy” for a minute. I shrug. Why not? Technically, she doesn’t even have to ask for my permission. She heads out the front doors and I get back to work.
Diane comes by, signs off on a checklist, looks at her watch, and tells me she’s going on her break. I nod. But instead of leaving, she sidles behind me to see what I have up on my laptop.
“It’s an essay for school,” I say, without looking back at her. “You wanna proofread it for me?”
She gives an audible “Hmph,” and heads for the break room.
I write another page and the lights flicker.
Remembering the other night, I hit “save”. I sit, waiting, but the lights stay on. What the hell. I’ll let my essay ferment for a while, and then tackle it in a bit.
I stand up and stretch, check the monitors. Freddy’s tow truck sits beneath a tree in the corner of the parking lot. The common room is empty. The dining room is empty except for Mr. Martin, papers scattered in front of him, hard at work on his endless calculations. I switch the channel to show the rear of the building.
Holy shit. Two people are sitting on the bench overlooking the “lake”. And the shed is open. There’s a flashing light coming from within it.
I grab a flashlight from a drawer, head down the corridor, through the employee break room and out the back door and step out into the rear parking lot.
It’s dark out here, which is another reason we discourage the residents from venturing out here, particularly at night, but the flashlight helps me find my footing.
I’m pretty sure I know who the two on the bench are. I walk around in front of them and it is, of course, Mrs. Mendez and Mr. LaFica, in their pajamas. Enough is enough.
“Okay, you two, this is getting —” I stop. They’re not moving. They’re just sitting there, leaning against each other. Eyes open, but unfocused. I kneel down and gently poke LaFica’s shoulder. “Mr. LaFica?” His eyes move and slowly focus on me. His mouth opens slightly, a strand of saliva connecting his upper and lower teeth.
I glance behind me at the shed. The light shining from the door is ... moving, kind of sparkling. I walk over and instantly shut my eyes because it’s so bright. I crack them open slowly and put up a hand to block the worst of the glare.
Two spheres of what looks like solid light are floating in the shed. They’re kind of see-through, but not really, because of they way shift and glow. About the size of basketballs, they just hover there with several of these glowing light arms or tentacles drifting around them. The bright, blue-white orbs slowly dip up and down, pulsing slightly. Light sparkles off all the objects and surfaces in the room. It reminds me of when we use the mirrored disco ball on “Party Night”.
Directly beneath the light balls is some type of device. A metal box containing lights, wires, computer parts, and switches, cobbled together from a variety of sources. I see the wheelchair, or what’s left of it, leaning against the wall. An old PC also sits, opened up, its innards exposed. So this is where all the missing stuff has been going. To build this ... whatever it is. If I had to guess, I’d say it’s some kind of little computer, only there’s no screen. All I know is that it looks complicated.
As I enter the shed, the tentacles withdraw into the glowing spheres, which quickly dart toward me. I stumble back, reaching for the sides of the doorway to catch myself, but I fall and the twin orbs zoom over me. I roll over to watch as they settle several feet above the old couple on the bench, one over Mrs. Mendez, the other on Mr. Lafica, and then they wink out. Just like that.
The two old people jerk, and as I get to my knees, I can see blue-white light shining out from their eyes, mouths, ears, and, based on the gleam coming from Mr. LaFica’s pajama bottoms, his butt. He sits up, turns his head and looks at me and smiles. I fall back on my rear and scramble, crab-like toward the shed.
LaFica approaches me, a hand held out. Numbly, dumbly, I take his hand and he helps me stand. He helps me stand. He and Mrs. Mendez lead me to the bench and sit me down.
“What... who... ?” I don’t even know what to ask.
They exchange a look, and LaFica says, “We need your help.”
I swallow and nod vigorously. “Yeah. Sure”
Mrs. Mendez sat next to me. “Do not be afraid, Kyle Chapman. We are not here to cause you harm.” She puts a reassuring hand on my shoulder. “We want to leave as quickly as possible.”
“Leave? What do you mean? Leave Vista Del Lago?”
Now Mr. LaFica sits on the other side of me. My mind flips back to the other night, when Yesenia said they asked her to join them in bed. I stand up.
“Wait!” Mr. LaFica says. “Do not go. We need your help.”
“Need your help,” echoes Mrs. Mendez. “Please.”
“But—those... things? That light? What was that?”
Mr. LaFica smiles. “That was... me. Us. Our true form.”
Mrs. Mendez smiles too. She closes her eyes, and then opens them. They are filled with the same blue shimmering light. Her eyes close and open and they’re back to normal.
“But what are you? Who are you? What do you want from me? Where are Mr. LaFica and Mrs. Mendez?”
They take turns answering me, and I look back and forth between them; a spectator at the weirdest fucking tennis match of all time.
LaFica: “We need to leave your planet.”
Mendez: “We are hoping you can help us.”
Mendez: “Our hosts are... not harmed. They have welcomed our forms.”
LaFica: “They are at peace. Unharmed.”
LaFica: “We are not from here. From your planet.”
This last part is the only thing I can be sure of right now. I did just see two glowing balls of light enter their bodies. I take a deep breath and try to keep it together.
“This planet?” I point to the ground. “Earth. Not your planet.”
“Correct,” LaFica says. “We are from far away. From what you call the GN-z11 galaxy. Very far away.”
Mrs. Mendez turns and looks up at the starry sky. She squints, looks for a bit, then points. “We come from there.”
I nod like I know where she’s pointing. “How ... how did you get here?”
“We were passing by your world.”
“Passing by,” LaFica adds, unnecessarily. “Our vessel malfunctioned. We were forced to land.”
“And where is your ... vessel now?”
Her hand goes from pointing at the sky to pointing at the lake.
“In the lake?”
“Yes,” says LaFica. “We ... collided into the water. Is that the correct term?”
“Close enough,” I say. It starts to make sense.
“You were the ones who messed up Mr. Franklin’s room,” I say, as more pieces fall into place. “And you’re stealing the equipment to make...” I peer in the opened shed at the strange contraption they’ve built.
La Fica moves next to me. “It is a beacon.”
Mrs. Mendez nods. “A beacon.”
I nod too. “Hmm. Okay then.”
“Will you help us?” LaFica looks up at me.
I continue nodding, trying to process all this. I feel like I’m balancing on the edge of a precipice barely holding on to my sanity. One more push will send me into LaLa Land. As long as I don’t think too deeply about what’s happening, I tell myself, I’ll be okay. Just go with the flow.
“Tell no one,” LaFica admonishes, staring me in the eyes.
“No one,” Mrs. Mendez adds.
“Sure. Okay. But why do you need a beacon?”
LaFica says, “Our equipment was damaged when we landed in the water. We lost everything.”
They both look up at the starry night.
“We need to let our kind know where we are,” Mrs Mendez says quietly.
“So they can rescue you?” I ask.
LaFica and Mrs. Mendez exchange a look. “Yes. To rescue us,” LaFica says.
“To rescue us,” she echoes.
As much as anything can make sense now, I get this. But I have so many questions.
“So what do I call you? I can’t keep calling you Mr. LaFica and Mrs. Mendez.”
Mrs. Mendez steps forward. “You may refer to me as V’ee.” She motions to LaFica. “And this is Da’am.”
My knees are killing me from kneeling on the concrete floor of the shed when Mrs. Mendez, err ... V’ee tells me I’m just about finished. For almost two hours I’ve been helping them with this beacon of theirs, screwing this here, soldering wires together there. I’m normally very mechanically uninclined, but LaFica and Mendez help out, handing me tools, pointing what wire goes where, stuff like that. They may have alien minds in those bodies, but the bodies are still really old, and really weak. It’s hard for them to lift stuff up or hold it in place. At least that’s what they told me.
“Thank you, Kyle Chapman,” Da’am says, carefully squatting down to get a better look at a computer chip I soldered. “We could not have completed this in time without your help.”
“How do we plug it in? “ I ask. Their blank looks cause me to add, “How do we power it?”
It’s run by a void-fusion engine,” says Da’am, nudging the beacon with his foot. “A primitive one, to be sure, but it will serve its purpose.”
I say, “So you haven’t told me what happened. How you ended up here.”
“We were sent as explorers to a planet. It was to be ... modified for our race. I think you call it terra-forming? Do you know this word? “
I nod. “And?”
“We were passing by your world. As I told you, we were forced to land here. When our vessel sank into the water, we realized we were trapped here and had to conceal ourselves.”
They look at each other. Da’am continues. “We found the human forms and what they could do... pleasurable. We became distracted from our mission.”
V’ee smiles. “Distracted.”
Da’am looks at her, then at me. “These physical bodies. They feel sensations that we have never experienced.”
They exchange a glance again, and their eyes flash blue — really quickly, like a blink.
“We really like sex!” Da’am says, smiling that goofy grin.
V’ee adds, unnecessarily, “Sometimes we trade bodies with each other. And other times—”
I hold out my hands. “That’s okay. I get it. You discovered sex. Welcome to the human race.” Of course I haven’t had sex in almost a year, but that’s another story.
Da’am holds his hand out to V’ee and she takes it. Together, they walk back to the shed and stand there, silently looking down at the beacon.
I look at it, too, waiting for something to happen.
Nothing happens. Okay. I’m starting to feel like a third wheel. Five minutes go by. Did they forget about me? I clear my throat.
They both turn to me, smiling. “Would you like to turn it on, Kyle Chapman?”
V’ee’s eyes twinkle blue as she nods at me. “We could not have done it without your help.”
“Sure. What the hell?” I tell them. “It’s not every day you can help an alien race.”
I walk over to the beacon and then stand aside. I kneel down. “Okay, what do I do?”
“Push the red button twice,” Da’am says, so I do. The machine starts to hum and a blue light begins blinking. The light is mounted on a small circular plate which begins to slowly rotate.
“Could you lift it onto that shelf, Kyle Chapman?” V’ee asks. “We don’t want anyone else to find it. They will not understand.”
“Sure.” I heft it up to a metal shelf just under the high window. I slide a cardboard box full of old paint cans in front of it. This way, no one will find it unless they’re really looking for it.
Da’am puts his hand on my shoulder. “Thank you. You have no idea how much this means to us.”
“Just happy to help,” I reply.
The rest of my shift passes quietly enough. I managed to get the two ancient aliens back in their rooms without being seen by sneaking them in through the back entrance.
Tonight when I walk into the work, the strangest thing happens. Mr. Martin grabs me as soon as I walk in the door. It’s like he was waiting for me. He has a hold of my arm, and let me tell you, he’s pretty strong for an old guy.
“Did you turn it on?” he demands.
I look up at him. “What?”
“Did you turn it on?” he repeats, shaking me for emphasis. This is getting scary.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I tell him, trying to gently pull away.
“Riley, there you are!” Carl comes swooping in and puts a big arm around Mr. Martin and detaches his hand from my arm. “I’ve been looking all over for you. You left all your books out. Now come, we need to clean ‘em up.”
“But you don’t understand, “Riley protests, gesturing impatiently at me. “This motherfucking nincompoop has —”
“That’s enough. Watch the language,” Carl says firmly. “Now, let’s go.”
He leads a protesting Riley toward the common room. I watch them go. I hate scenes like that. They’re scary and uncomfortable. It’s not unusual, a place like this. The old folks get confused, and some eventually lose all touch with reality. Alzheimer’s is an ugly, ugly disease.
Carl catches up to me later, on his way out. ”Sorry about that, man. He’s been acting weird all day. I was keeping an eye on him, but he got away.”
“What was he talking about?” I asked him.
He shakes his head. “I don’t know, man. I don’t know. He’s in his room now. Yesenia’s gonna give him a little something to help him sleep. Anyway, I’ll see you tomorrow.”
I wave and he takes off.
During my break, I head out back to the shed to make sure the beacon is still working. I hope I’m there when V’ee and Da’am get rescued. That’s going to be something to see.
I stop when I reach the shed. Somebody put a shiny new padlock on the door. Who? Carl? I go around to the side and peek through the cracked, dirty window. The metal box is still there. I can see the light blinking. I turn away. Wait a second ... the light was blue before, and now it’s red. Hmm. I wonder if that means anything.
Back inside, I swing by Mr. LaFica’s room. I listen at the door. It’s quiet, so I carefully open the door. LaFica’s bed is empty. I slip out and walk down to Mrs. Mendez’s room. I hear the moaning before I even get close to the door. I stop. No way I’m walking in on that again. I’ll tell them about the beacon later. Smiling, I walk back to the desk. I’ve got an essay to finish.
***
Heading out to my car after my shift, as I fumble for my car keys, I’m dimly aware of shouting. But I’m too dog-tired to really process anything. Yawning, thinking about a drive-thru breakfast sandwich and my bed.
Now I smell smoke. Must be a fire nearby. And now I hear a couple of sirens. Actually, more than a couple. I glance around, and that’s when I notice how dark it is. I look up, and barely register the sound of my computer bag crashing onto the pavement.
The entire sky is filled with giant black pyramids. Hundreds and hundreds of black pyramids. They're huge, the size of office buildings, with flashing red lights along their edges. And they’re all slowly rotating.
As I watch, amazed, a beam of pure white light shoots out from the base of one. A second later, I hear the thump of an explosion. More smoke starts to rise.
“Aren’t they glorious?”
I turn. La Fica and Mendez (or Da’am and V’ee) stand behind me, both of them bare-ass naked.
“What is this?” I try to say, but nothing comes out, just croaking. I motion up at the pyramids.
Da’am winks at me. “We couldn’t have done it without you, Kyle Chapman.” He turns to V’ee, their eyes flash blue, and they both collapse onto the parking lot. The two old people lay splayed on the ground, moaning, as the blue orbs rise from their unmoving forms.
The two aliens rise, their tentacles trailing, higher and higher, toward the floating pyramids.
I think of the beacon.
The beacon that I helped build.
