When Faye’s shift ended, she left the hospital by one of the side doors, near the loading dock. The sun was only just coming up, but the shadows were still thick, so she didn’t notice the creature crouched low beside one of the dumpsters. She walked right past Henry where he slept in those shadows. Only Milo noticed her, and he wasn’t sure what to do. He could try waking Henry, attempt again to make a physical connection – at least enough to wake him. He could also just let Faye walk by, go home, carry on with her life, and deal later with Henry’s anger and disappointment at missing her.
Even if he did wake Henry, he reasoned, his friend would probably just get up and stumble after her like a deranged beast. She would be terrified, run from him, likely scream, and people would see him. What was the point in that? There was really no way this was going to end well. But he aimed to stand by Henry, no matter what.
So Milo concentrated as hard as he could, tried to make his fingers – or at least the tips of his fingers – substantial enough to brush against Henry’s face. He raised his hand, swiped it across Henry’s cheek. Nothing. He did it again. And again. On the fourth try, whether Milo had actually succeeded or not in making his fingertips substantial, Henry roused a little, grunted. Metal flakes shivered in the wind and sprinkled at his feet as his neck lifted his giant skull from his chest.
Come on, Henry, she’s here. She’s walking away right now. Wake up. Wake up.
Henry stirred again, still partially asleep, but beginning to come around. One of his feet involuntarily kicked out, crashing against the bottom of the dumpster.
Twenty feet away, just as she was nearing the edge of the sidewalk, Faye jumped at the sound, turned around sharply, wide-eyed. She saw nothing but deep shadows, though something like dread crawled up inside her and nestled in.
She turned around slowly again, carried on walking. Reached the sidewalk.
Then she heard a voice like cracking rocks. It said her name.
She froze.
Nothing in that moment could have made her turn around again.
“Faye,” the voice said again. So much pain, like it physically hurt the speaker to form the word.
Her heart thudded in her chest; her legs felt like jelly. The sidewalk upon which she stood suddenly felt like a sponge. Blood pumped in her ears – so much so that she wasn’t sure she heard the next words from the voice correctly at all.
“It’s me,” it said.
The gloom was still thick, and the snow still falling hard enough that the few figures she spotted in the storm looked like nothing more than silhouettes from where she stood. She thought briefly of calling out to them, but something made her stop. Something connected to the dread that’d made its home in her belly. Something warmer this time, though. The voice now somehow familiar. Her mind raced to make the connection.
“It’s me,” the voice came again. Then: “Please, come… here.”
The voice sounded inhuman, and she knew it was insanity to respond to it, to turn around and look – to even entertain the idea of heading in its direction.
But wasn’t it someone she knew? Wasn’t it–
“Henry,” the jumble of rocks in the shadows croaked. “Henry…”
The connection made – as crazy and impossible as it was – she somehow felt a tiny bit settled. The first thought to come to her was: I knew you weren’t dead. I knew it.
Snowflakes melting onto her flushed cheeks, she turned around slowly, then stared down at her feet, marveling as they brought her toward the source of the voice. The dumpster. The shadows. Perhaps death. Somehow it didn’t matter. On some deep level, she was powerless to stop it.
Snow crunched under her feet, she slipped on some ice, righted herself. Tottered uncertainly to a stop about five feet away from the darkness near the bin. Breath coming quickly, puffing into the crisp early morning air, she whispered, “Henry?”
The darkness shifted, something caught the dim sunlight briefly and gleamed.
“I don’t think,” Henry growled, “you should see me … like this.”
Speech was becoming a little easier for Henry, and the words came a bit more naturally from his mouth now. He was slowly learning how to use his new body.
“I went to check on you,” Faye said, “but you–”
“–were dead. I know,” Henry finished for her.
“You were so… hot. Burning up.”
Henry said nothing. He moved slightly again, and Faye caught sight of something steel. Metallic. Fear knotted her guts. “What are you holding, Henry? What’s in your hand?”
She took a step back. Two more before he answered.
“Nothing. Nothing.”
Milo floated a few feet away, just watching, fascinated, curious how this would turn out. Feeling terrible for Henry. Anxious for Faye.
“Listen, I … something has happened to me, Faye. Don’t know what to do. Where to go.”
“What’s wrong with your voice?” Faye couldn’t respond to the content of the question. “It’s… wrong.”
“Sun will be up soon. Need to get somewhere darker. Away from people. Can you help me?”
“Tell me what happened, Henry. Let me see you, and we can try to figure out what to–”
Just then, a car drove by, its headlights illuminating the edges of the shadow in which Henry hid. She saw one of his legs, part of his torso, and the fingers of one hand.
Her jaw dropped, her eyes bugged, and a hand shot up to her mouth. But she stayed where she was, even though every fiber of her being was barking at her to run, get the fuck out of there right now.
The headlights whipped past the dumpster as fast as they’d lit it up. Henry pulled his leg in closer to his body, unsure of how much Faye had seen, knowing that at this point even a few inches was enough to have caused her reaction.
“I’m changing,” Henry said. “Into something else.”
Faye stared, slowly brought the hand down from her mouth, consciously lifted her jaw till she heard her teeth click together.
More people were moving around inside the hospital now. Outside, too. More cars, more buses.
“What do you need me to do?” Faye heard herself say, not entirely sure why she was still anywhere near this spot. She should’ve rocketed out of there as soon as she’d heard that voice – and certainly the moment she’d seen… whatever it was she’d seen. This was not Henry Kyllo. It might claim to be him, might even sound a little like him under all the growling gravel, but it couldn’t be. It’s impossible.
And yet.
“I just need to hide till I can figure out what’s going on. I didn’t know where else to turn. My only real friend was Milo, and he’s dead.”
Milo looked hard at his friend, then. Felt something like breath come into his lungs.
Faye glanced behind her. More people still. They were bound to start coming in and out of the loading dock doors soon.
She opened her mouth to speak – maybe even to give an answer, she didn’t know – when two of her co-workers walked out of the door she’d come through a few minutes ago. They were laughing and talking shit about someone. One of them, a woman named Joan, looked up and saw Faye standing near the dumpster. “Faye?” she said. “What are you doing? Dumpster diving?” She and her friend, Marissa something-or-other, laughed some more, kept walking arm in arm.
“Ha,” Faye said. “Your face is a dumpster.” She tried to act as casual as she could so they wouldn’t stop and come over. They were work friends, but not close: the occasional joke here and there, acting silly in the break room, that sort of thing.
They just made faces, flipped her the bird, and kept walking, headed for the bus stop.
Unsure exactly why she was doing this – clearly there was something incredibly wrong with Henry – she stepped closer, whispered, “Alright, then. Follow me.” She felt strongly that she needed to help him, that there was truth to this. And that no one else would help him.
She strode past the shadows where Henry hunkered, purposely not looking, afraid to see more of whatever she’d glimpsed before in that wash of headlights. Henry said nothing as she walked past, just scrambled to gain his feet.
She opened the door to the loading dock, poked her head in, looked around.
No one coming.
She stepped inside, held the door open, but still didn’t look behind her. When she felt the weight of the door removed from her hand, heard breathing close to her ear, she carried on.
Down the stairs, moving quickly. Behind her, Henry grunted, “Slow down. Can’t move so fast.” She ignored him. Then, two flights down, she said over her shoulder, “Keep up. I’m not waiting around,” and kept going. Henry shambled along behind, occasionally forgetting his size and cracking his head off the cement stairs.
“And try to be quieter,” Faye said, reaching the bottom of the staircase.
Milo grinned a little at that, whispered along in both their wakes.
“Wait here a sec,” Faye said. “I’m going to check the boiler room, make sure no one’s in there. Should be somewhere in there you can hide – at least for a little while.”
Henry nodded, looked nervously around, expecting at any moment for someone to come out of one of the many doors along this hallway. But the hospital was still fairly sleepy at this hour of the morning. He didn’t know what he’d do if someone came out and panicked at the sight of him. Would he lose his shit and just crush their tiny skull? Christ, he hoped not.
Since he’d woken up this morning, intense dread had welled up in his chest when he thought too long about what was happening. Surely his mind would also be changing as his body was, but the pre-change part of his thought processes occasionally choked on the reality of his situation. He’d feel panic burst into his brain, a mad feeling of suddenly needing to be outside his changing body. Then, fairly quickly, that feeling would be tamped down by another part of his brain – the part that subconsciously knew what was happening. Or that at least was becoming used to his new form. That dread filled him now, but he didn’t know whether this time it was because of his own situation, or because bringing Faye into this was setting her up for whatever disastrous road must surely lie ahead.
Faye walked down to the second door on the left, opened it, went inside. Ten seconds later, she emerged, waved her arm frantically for Henry to follow. Henry, keeping his head ducked so as not to destroy the light fixtures in the hallway ceiling, closed the distance to the doorway in three strides. Once inside the boiler room, Faye closed the door behind him.
It was nearly pitch dark inside. A thin stream of weak sunlight filtered in through a small window near the back wall. Machines hummed all around Henry, easing his nervousness a little. He instantly felt more at home here. Unseen. Surrounded by steel and mechanical things.
Is that what I’m becoming? A machine? He shuddered at the thought. If he was a machine, how would he start to see Faye? What would she be to him? He brushed these thoughts aside. Shook his head quickly, physically trying to rid them from his mind.
“It’s dark,” he said.
“I turned out the lights,” Faye said. Henry sensed her close, but not within arm’s reach – not even his mammoth arms.
“Thank you,” Henry said. “For hiding me here.”
Faye said nothing. He sensed her move closer. Closer still.
“What happened to you, Henry?”
“I changed.”
“Into what?”
“I don’t know.”
“Why did you come here? Why did you come to me?”
“Because Milo is dead. And I wanted to see you. I thought you could help me.”
“I know. But what about other friends? In your… group. Society. Whatever it is.”
Henry had never shared much about the Inferne Cutis. Faye knew what he was to a certain extent – knew that he was different, that he healed quickly from injuries that would kill another man. But her mind somehow separated those facts from her growing love for him. She felt no need to ask more about what he did at night when he left her apartment. Maybe simply because the less she knew, the safer she’d be. That’s certainly why Henry never elaborated on his nightly Runs.
“I’m scared to go back,” Henry said. “I don’t know what they’ll do to me.”
“What do you mean? What would they do to you?”
Henry was silent for a moment. Then: “Whatever I am. Whatever this is… I don’t think it’s supposed to happen. It just…”
Though her eyes were starting to adjust to the darkness in the boiler room, she could still only make out Henry’s general shape. But it was enough for her mouth to betray her. She said, “But I don’t even know what you are.”
The words were out before she knew it. She wished she could take them back. She felt Henry stiffen, felt the air around him grow somehow… colder. Even though he’d said much the same thing himself, hearing it from her was different.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that, Henry.”
She knew her words made her sound distant, uncaring. She was trying to protect herself, but it was coming out wrong. But as close as they felt most of the time, this was uncharted territory. New boyfriends generally don’t turn into anything more or less than human.
Behind Henry, Milo hovered, watching. He didn’t know why he was here, what he hoped to achieve by hanging around his old friend, especially when he couldn’t make contact. And even when he did make contact – if Milo’s fingertips actually had brushed Henry’s face – Henry didn’t know what he was making contact with. Milo was just the cold spot in a room to Henry, perhaps a half-formed thought.
He’d stayed with him through the night, which he’d promised Henry he would. But the night was over now. Milo should get on with his afterlife. Maybe I’ll go haunt some abandoned factory somewhere, he thought. Or an old set of train tracks. Find a house where a bunch of people had been murdered, and whisper weird shit into the new homeowners’ ears at night. Something fucking interesting, for Christ’s sake.
But he couldn’t leave yet. He didn’t know how he knew, but something still felt … unfinished.
“It’s… It’s OK,” Henry said. “You’re right.”
Faye stepped closer, plucked up her courage, raised her arm toward Henry, said, “Take my hand, Henry. I’ll lead you somewhere safer. Someone could walk in at any time.”
Henry hesitated a moment, then reached out his giant steel hand, searching. He brushed against Faye’s tiny fingers, and she drew in a quick, sharp breath. “You’re so cold,” she said. Then her fingers found purchase on two of his fingers. She clasped them and pulled. “Come on.”
She led them away from the door, away from the tiny window, away from any source of light, deeper into the boiler room. She knew her way around the boiler room because she often came down here for a sneaky smoke on particularly cold days in the dead of winter. Even so, she walked carefully, feeling ahead of her path with her right foot.
A minute later, she stopped. They were tucked into a far corner of the room, sort of an alcove, with three walls very close around them. Cleaning supplies stacked neatly near their feet. Henry clumsily kicked a broom and bucket as he stepped inside.
“Shhh, Henry, careful.”
“Sorry,” he said, sheepishly. “Still getting used to these big clodhoppers.”
The space was small, maybe five or six square feet. They were now so close that touching was unavoidable. Milo floated just outside the alcove, watching, listening.
Tentatively, Faye reached a hand up to Henry’s face. She cupped her palm, feeling the edge of his cheek. Cold as ice, hard as stone. She flinched back for a moment, and Henry flinched away, too. She recovered herself, pressed against the cheek again, this time leaving her hand there, warming the steel.
“I remember how hot you were in your apartment,” Faye said. “Burning up. But dead.”
“Not dead, I guess, just changing.”
Her hand moved down to his neck, where sharp protrusions nestled in clumps near his collar bone.
“Careful,” Henry said.
She felt around to the other side of his face, to his nose, his mouth, lips. He bent over more so she could feel his forehead, the top of his skull. He knew she needed to do this, to understand. To prepare herself for when she could no longer hide him in darkness.
She moved her hand from his head, ran it down the length of his left arm. Smooth except for thin crevices where the steel had not yet fully formed. A gentle thrumming coursed through her palm as she explored. Whatever Henry was becoming, he was still in transition, and Faye was experiencing the change in real time. Her flesh to his, connected intimately.
Faye’s fingertips down Henry’s arm were like a soothing balm applied to the skin of a burn victim. He felt as though he were on fire as the machinery inside him went about its work, but Faye’s touch calmed him, made him feel somehow at peace with what was happening to him. Although encouraged by this, at the back of his mind, he knew that she had still not actually seen him – all of him – clearly, and that when she did, there would be no more touching, no more sympathy, nothing. She would run from him, get clear of him as fast as humanly possible.
And what would he do? Would there still be enough of who he was left to understand the rejection, to let her go? Or would he follow her, run her down, smash her to pulp?
Faye ran her hand down his right arm. This one was less formed, thicker crevices, some small holes here and there, her fingers dropping into these empty spots, then popping back out, like a tire going over potholes.
When she explored his chest, she used both hands pushed flat against him. This was different terrain. Not nearly as smooth as his head and arms. Being careful to avoid the sharper protrusions near his collar, she felt where his pectoral muscles would normally have been, and moved down from there. The metal here seemed to ripple – somehow reacting to her touch. Down, farther still, to his belly. His abdomen tensed as she neared it, then settled into a similar rippling motion as his chest. She wondered briefly what it meant, if anything. She was going to ask, but found that she couldn’t form the words. She was too entranced by the motion beneath her fingers to manage speech.
After a few more moments with her hands on his stomach, she pulled them back, said, “We need to get you somewhere safe. Someone will eventually come in here for cleaning supplies.”
“I know.”
She waited a moment, felt her heart racing. Was she really going to say this?
“You can stay with me, but I don’t know how we’re going to get you to my apartment without being seen.”
Milo had been floating outside the alcove, hypnotized by the scene inside. He suddenly felt something like the air pressure changing in the room. His senses prickled. He turned, drifted away from the alcove a few feet and, not more than an arm’s length away, a woman stood.
Looking right at him.
Tall, long dark hair, deep red lipstick, wearing a plain red T-shirt and dark blue jeans. Her mouth moved, but no sounds came out.
Milo watched her for a few moments, then backed up, turned to look at Henry and Faye, with an Are you two seeing this? expression on his face. But, of course, neither of them looked in his direction. He turned back to the woman, looked down, and noticed that she, too, was floating off the ground – but where he felt insubstantial and was certain that, to others, he’d look how one expects a ghost to look, she was fully fleshed out, looked as solid as the rest of the room.
As Milo watched her, he developed a sensation of warmth that could not be traced to any particular part of his being. It was as if his entirety suddenly became warm. Heated up from the inside. He watched her lips move, tried to read the words, but couldn’t make any out. But as this feeling of warmth grew, an acute sense of desperation accompanied it, and he began to feel sick. His head swam with these conflicting feelings, and he did not know what was happening to him, which only made the feeling worse. He simultaneously wanted it to stop immediately and go on forever.
Milo realized that he could literally not take his eyes from the woman, particularly her lips. Even though he couldn’t make out a single word, his attention was rapt. Were he still alive and experiencing this, Henry could’ve stomped over and belted him across the mouth with a frying pan-sized hand and he would still have just stood there staring.
He wanted to reach out a hand to see if he could touch her, but was unable to move. Rooted like a tree. “Whhh…” he said, his eyelids fluttering. Nothing coherent would come out, so he gave up.
Using all his willpower, he was finally able to wrench his gaze from her lips. His eyes traced her body shape once, but then snapped up to her face again. Tears formed in the corners of his eyes. His heart pounded in his chest. Palms sweaty. Mouth dry as sand.
What is this? What am I feeling? What’s happening?
That’s when the woman vanished.
Back in the alcove, Henry and Faye had decided that the best way for Henry to get to her apartment would be to smuggle him out in an ambulance. Or, rather, enlist the aid of an ambulance driver (Henry would never fit in a car) who could drive him to her apartment in the dead of night, then keep his mouth shut about Henry’s existence.
“How can we be sure he won’t tell?” Henry whispered, as best as he could, still somewhat unable to control the volume of his voice.
“He’s a good friend,” Faye said, realizing how unconvincing that sounded, even though the driver she had in mind, Steve Mincener, was a good friend, and she’d known him several years.
Henry was silent, and she knew it was because he was skeptical, but also knew there weren’t a lot of options. The only choice they had was who she asked to help. If she thought Steve was their best bet, then Steve it was. Whether he told or not was out of their hands at that point.
Faye glanced at her watch. “I’ll go talk to him. I’m pretty sure his shift has started. Stay here and try to hide as best you can.” She allowed herself a little smirk, considering the impossibility of her statement. “Actually, better idea: follow me to the door, and we’ll put something heavy in front of it so it can’t be pushed open. Whoever wants in will just think it’s stuck.”
Faye walked out of the alcove, with Henry following behind. Even though he didn’t need to, Milo stepped out of their way, still bewildered at the appearance of the beautiful woman who had vanished so suddenly. He questioned whether or not he had really seen her.
I have been under a lot of pressure lately, he thought. But can a ghost see another ghost? And does every Runner – or Hunter, for that matter – wind up as a ghost after death? If so, where’s everyone else? Have they all fucked off to Heaven or Hell, and I’m stuck here forever, doomed to float around after my best friend as he morphs into God knows what?
Milo took one more look at the place the woman had appeared and disappeared – half expecting her to reappear again – then followed Henry and Faye to the door.
When they got there, Faye motioned Henry to shh, then put her ear to the door, listened for movement.
Nothing. Silence.
“Alright,” she whispered, “when I’m gone, move something heavy behind the door. When I’m back, I’ll knock twice, quickly, then add a third knock at the end so you’ll know it’s me. With any luck, I’ll have Steve with me, and we can get out of here, get you safe, OK?”
Henry nodded. Faye looked at him, realizing that the light here was better than back in the alcove. And in so doing, she put reality to the images she’d drawn in her mind upon touching his face. It wasn’t as terrifying as she thought it would be.
Although he was decidedly alien, his features that of a comicbook villain – all sharp angles and sinister lines – she was not frightened. This was Henry. Her Henry – from the hospital, from the bar, from a time before he’d become what he was now. The more she looked at him, the more comfortable she felt in his presence.
She smiled at him, touched his arm briefly, turned the doorknob, slipped out the door, and was gone.
Henry heard her footsteps echoing down the hall. With every step, he grew increasingly nervous.
What if she just leaves me here? Now that she’s seen me, touched me, even in dim light, she knows what I am. What sane person would return?
Henry glanced around for something to block the door. He should do it quickly, in case someone was even now on their way for cleaning supplies.
Something heavy, something heavy…
Then it occurred to him – the quickest, easiest solution.
Henry turned his back and sat down against the door, roughly a quarter ton of steel blocking the way. As the seconds stretched into minutes, Henry’s eyelids grew heavy. He fell into a deep sleep very quickly.
He dreamed he was running in a field. He felt lighter than he ever had in his life. This was pre-transformation Henry. In fact, Henry felt even lighter than that; he imagined he had no metal at all in his body. In waking life, he couldn’t recall this point in his existence. He must’ve been lead-free at some time, but those days were lost to him. He knew only the feeling of heavy metals in his system, churning within him, eager to coalesce into what he would one day become. But this dream made him feel… what? Human? He had no idea what that felt like. Couldn’t possibly have any idea. But this dream was wonderful. His body felt so light as he ran. As though only blood, muscle, flesh, and bone were packed inside his skin. Such a freeing feeling – one so alien to him that he didn’t properly know how to process the emotions the experience stirred.
As he ran across the field, the wind whipped through his hair, around his ears, seemed to whistle right through him. He felt insubstantial, like he could run straight through solid objects.
Then: far away, perhaps coming from over the mountains that loomed on all sides, he heard thumping. The landscape rippled with each one. He continued running, but with each step, he felt heavier. Flesh and bone becoming metal again. More thumping, as if some gigantic god stomped around on the other side of the mountains, just out of sight. Heavier, slower now. And as in most running dreams, his legs felt weighed down in cement, the horizon stretching farther and farther away. The pounding sound became thinner as Henry’s feet slowed to a stop. He stood panting in the field, feeling as though this angry god would appear any second over the tip of one of the mountains, and lock him in its gaze. Rooting him to the spot forever.
When he finally swam up to reality again, he recognized the pounding of the god’s fists as merely Faye’s three-knock signal. He shook his head and scrambled – as much as five hundred pounds of steel can be said to scramble – to his feet. Turned, opened the door.
Faye walked in carrying a big dark blanket, followed by a short, worried-looking man. Balding. Glasses. Wearing a paramedic’s uniform.
“What were you doing? Why didn’t you answer?” Faye demanded as soon as the door was closed behind them.
“Nodded off. Sorry,” Henry muttered.
She just stared at him. Was about to continue asking questions, realized time was of the essence. “OK, well, Steve’s got the ambulance pulled up to the docking area, ready to go. I’ll pop out, make sure the coast is clear – I’ve always wanted to say that,” she said, and grinned. “Then I’ll come back in, hustle you out under this big-ass blanket, and away we go. Got it?”
Henry, still half asleep, just repeated, “Got it.”
“Great, let’s do it.” Faye then turned to Steve. “Alright, Steve, you walk out casually, get into the ambulance, then just wait for us to get in the back. Once we’re underway–” And that’s when she caught sight of Steve’s slack-jawed expression. The blood seemed to have drained entirely from his face.
She’d told him she needed to transport something “strange” to her apartment, but didn’t go into further detail. She knew if she tried to describe Henry to him, he wouldn’t have believed her anyway, and would’ve just delayed them further by asking a million questions. But in her desire to get this done before the hospital got too busy, she’d forgotten to deal with Steve’s reaction immediately upon entering the room.
She turned now to face him, put her hands on his shoulders, said, “Steve. Steve, look at me. Stop looking at Henry. Come on, Steve.” She snapped her fingers in front of his face. “Come on, look at me. Focus.”
Steve’s jaw snapped shut with a click, his eyes slowly sliding off Henry’s face like it was greased. He managed to focus on Faye’s eyes. “What’s… that?” he said, and backed away, out of Faye’s reach, his heels smacking against the door behind him. “What is it? What is it?”
Henry dropped his gaze, looked at the floor.
Milo, too, dropped his eyes, sad to see this playing out in front of him. Embarrassed on his friend’s behalf.
“I’ll explain later, Steve,” Faye said. “Just believe me that he’s not harmful. He won’t do anything to you, me, or anyone else. Something has –” she searched for the right word “– happened to him, Steve. It’s not his fault, and I care for him, so I need you to be the friend I know you are, and just drive us to my apartment. OK?”
Steve still looked mildly horrified, but color was slowly returning to his face. “Yeah,” he said. “Sure, whatever.” Steve tried to tell himself the guy must just be in a suit of some kind, and maybe standing on stilts. It looked too real, though. But his mind didn’t want to deal with that option, so instead ran on the automation of shock and rationalization.
He groped in the semi-dark for the door handle, grasped it, turned it. Out he went, into the hallway. The ambulance’s driver-side door opened, slammed, then the engine roared to life.
A shudder ripped through Milo just then. Something unpleasant was coming. He didn’t know how he knew, but felt it deep inside. A truth unbreakable, indisputable. He tried to shake it off, but it clung to him like wet gauze.
Faye turned to Henry. “Are you ready?”
Henry nodded once.
Faye flung the blanket over him as best she could. Henry helped by draping it up and over his head. When it settled, it covered about three quarters of him, which would have to do. It would be screamingly obvious to anyone if they saw thick metal legs and a blanket running around that something was suspicious, but at least they wouldn’t see all of him, which would be much worse.
Faye cracked the door, peeked out. Nothing moved. She heard voices somewhere, though, echoing off the hallway walls, and the grounds would only get busier, so it was now or never.
She glanced back again to Henry, whispered, “Let’s go,” then stepped out into the hall. Henry lumbered after her, with Milo in tow. Once Henry was through the door, Faye shut it behind him, then moved ahead of him, grabbed onto one of his enormous hands and led him in the direction of the ambulance.
The voices were getting closer now, but Henry and Faye were only about twenty feet from the back of the open ambulance and safety.
“Come on, Henry, just a bit farther,” Faye whispered, and tried to tug on him to speed him up. She may as well have been tugging on a car.
The sound of the ambulance’s idling engine blocked out the nearby voices as they got closer, which only made her more nervous. The last ten feet of the journey were agony. With every shuffling footstep from Henry, she thought she’d hear someone yell out to them, catch them in the act. There would be no explaining this. Henry and she would be separated – probably forever. The thought created a ball of lead in her gut and brought tears to her eyes.
“Nearly there,” she said. “About five more steps.”
Once they were at the edge of the back doors, she lifted the blanket so Henry could see his feet and the back of the vehicle. “Step up,” she said. “Quickly.” She glanced around one last time. Still no one. Is this really happening? she thought madly. Am I actually smuggling a metal behemoth out of a hospital furnace room?
Henry stepped up, lost his balance, and fell forward. Luckily, due to his momentum, he toppled into the back of the ambulance rather than outside of it into the docking area. He crashed in, falling on his back and rolling to one side. Where he’d rolled, Faye saw dents in the metal underneath. The shocks of the vehicle groaned at the weight, but held.
Steve glanced back, petrified. “What the fuck!?” he hissed. “What are you doing back there? Someone’s gonna hear!”
Faye hoisted herself inside, telling Henry to drag his other leg in. She stood up.
“Steve,” Faye said, closing the doors. “Shut up and drive.”
They drove slowly away from the hospital, snow drifting down to blanket the docking area, erasing their footprints. Milo gazed out the back window, watching the accumulation, still trying to shake the sudden feeling of menace he’d felt earlier. It wouldn’t budge.
They drove in silence, Steve only occasionally craning his neck around to gawp at Henry. Blood had returned to his face, but the fear was plain in his eyes every time he swiveled in his seat to look behind him.
“Don’t drive too fast,” Faye said. “You’ll get us pulled over.”
“Least of my worries, Faye, sorry,” Steve said, keeping his eyes on the road.
“Listen,” Faye said, the word coming from her mouth in a sharp burst as she strode toward the front of the vehicle, leaning her head in near Steve’s. “You fucking slow down right now. The last thing we need is to have an accident. I said before that my friend is not dangerous, and he’s not. But I can certainly make him dangerous, if you’d prefer.”
Steve glanced at her quickly, the fear in his eyes leveled up yet another notch. He saw that Faye meant it, said nothing – just turned his head, stared forward, and eased off the gas pedal.
Faye moved to the back of the ambulance again, leaned down near where Henry still lay prone. He shifted to sit up when she approached, wanting to at least lean his back against the side of the vehicle.
“Try not to crush too many lifesaving devices in here OK?” she said, and smiled at him.
Henry just growled low in his throat as he tried to position himself into a sitting position. He attempted a smile, but again, it came off weirdly, since he still hadn’t mastered the dimensions and workings of his new face. Once he’d established himself as comfortably as possible, given the cramped interior, he mumbled, “Sorry,” and cast his eyes down.
“No need to be sorry, Henry. None of this is your fault.”
Now that she could see him in fairly strong light, things she originally mistook as menacing in the half-shaded areas of the hospital basement she now saw as beautiful. If you didn’t know him, you’d be terrified, of course (as poor Steve clearly was), but she knew Henry. She felt she somehow knew him better than people in her life she’d known for fifteen or twenty years.
“You’re at Harriston and Blumfield, right?” Steve asked.
“Yeah, the apartment building right on the corner there. Go around back. As soon as we arrive, shut the engine down. Keep us as dark as possible.”
“Got it.”
Faye reached out a hand, brushed it softly against Henry’s cheek. He flinched away instinctively, but only a little. He kept his eyes cast down but let her touch him. Her hand moved lower, fingers curling gently under his chin, cupping it. He flicked his eyes up at her quickly, ready to see a look of revulsion on her face, but she only smiled, her head titled on an angle.
“I’m glad you’re here, Henry.”
He nodded, but said nothing in return.
Milo watched nearby, touched by the scene, wishing he could reach out to Henry, as well, let his friend know he was there with him. He knew it was impossible now – and likely would be forever – but he’d never wanted to be there for Henry more than he did right this instant. He knew Henry was flagging. Everything he was going through was taxing him emotionally to the point of despair. Even through his new facial features, and the new mannerisms his body was being forced to adapt, he could still see his old friend Henry in there, struggling to keep it together. Struggling to make sense of everything. Be present. Faye was doing her best, but Milo knew if he could somehow make Henry see him, give him the knowledge that he was there, too, it might be enough to get him through.
Milo felt a sudden rush of love for his friend so strong that he didn’t know where to put the emotion. It coursed through him like a rushing river. He closed his eyes, and just waited for it to pass. I’m here, Henry, he thought again, for the thousandth time. Faye is here, but I’m here, too. I wish you knew. I wish I could make you know that.
They drove around back of Faye’s apartment building, parked in a spot as close to the doors as possible. Steve cut the engine.
It was maybe thirty feet to the doors, but the sun was nearly fully up now. A few people trickled out of the building, on their way to early-start jobs, walking dogs, etc. Faye’s initial plan had been to try to sit unnoticed for the day, then hustle Henry inside once darkness fell. She saw now how ridiculous that was. Steve would be missed at work, as would the ambulance.
Steve turned around in the driver’s seat, said, “So what’s the plan now? Use the blanket again to shuffle him inside, hope no one notices? ’Cause if so, I suggest you rethink that. No way – now that a lot of people are up and about – are you going to pull that off. No way.”
Faye just sat and stared ahead, past Steve, out the front window. What the hell am I going to do?
Then it hit her:
“Fire alarm,” she said dreamily. “That’ll work, right? I’ll go in, pull the fire alarm. Everyone rushes out and, in the confusion, I bring Henry in.”
She looked to Steve, saw doubt in his eyes. “Risky,” he said. “Super risky, but I’m not sure what other choice you have. Since I need to get back, like –” he glanced at his watch “– now.”
“Fire house is pretty close,” Faye mumbled. “We’d need to be quick. Get him in there before they arrive.”
“Correction: you’d need to be quick,” Steve said. “I’ll be gone.”
“And you’re not going to say anything to anyone about this, right, Steve?” Faye said, snapping out of her dreamy voice, all threat again. “Right?”
“Yeah, yeah, definitely, Faye. You know I’d never tell anyone. You think I want this complication in my life? I have enough of those as it is, believe me. I don’t need to add this to my list. Whatever this is.” Steve gestured to Henry. “Also, who’d believe me?”
“Alright, you ready for this? I’ll go in, pull the alarm, walk out again calmly. We’ll get the blanket on Henry, get him out of the ambulance, then you can leave. I’ll wait till people start filing out, then we’ll move past everyone. Just me and… a seven-foot tall… fucking… giant.” Faye leaned over, put her head in her hands. “No way this is ever gonna work. Fuck!”
“Calm down, Faye. It’s gonna be fine,” Steve said, moving into the back part of the ambulance. He tried to put an arm around her, but she pulled away from him.
Ah, is that why you’re helping me, Steve?
He moved back, cleared his throat, embarrassed, but carried on: “Let’s just think for a sec. What else is out there? Near the doors, I mean. Maybe some other place he can hide till it gets dark? Whatever we do, we have to figure it out now. I already have no idea how I’m going to explain why I’m not at work and have been driving around in a fucking ambulance all morning for no apparent reason.”
Faye pulled her hands away from her face, breathed deeply. Straightened out her uniform. “Alright, OK. Let’s have a look.” She leaned forward into the passenger seat, poked her head out just far enough so she could see outside.
Dumpster. Of course. I’m an idiot.
“The dumpster,” she said, turning back to Steve. “We don’t need to pull the fire alarm. We only need a diversion big enough for me to get him into the dumpster. I’ll wait till people are asleep tonight, and then move him in. That’ll give me a chance to get a bigger blanket, too – one that might actually cover all of him, head to toe. It’ll still look weird if anyone sees it, but at least they won’t be able to actually see what he is.”
She glanced over at Henry, looking sheepish. She didn’t mean for her words to hurt him, but she saw that they did.
“Alright, do it,” Steve said, now visibly near panic at the thought of potentially losing his job. “Let’s go. Come on. I gotta get back.”
“Wait, what’s the diversion?” Faye said.
Steve looked lost in thought for a few seconds, then said, “Just watch what I do, then move Henry when you see I’ve got everyone’s attention. It won’t be anything Hollywood-flashy, so pay attention. Just gonna spin some bullshit.”
Steve moved to the back of the ambulance, took one more glance at Faye and Henry, opened the doors, then was out and walking toward the apartment building’s rear entrance.
Faye turned quickly to Henry. “I’ll get you out as soon as I can, Henry. I promise. It’ll be well over twelve hours, but then we’ll be safe, OK?”
Henry looked up at her. “Safe?” Then he dropped his eyes again. The word was hollow, meaningless in his mouth, her ears.
Milo felt that stomach-churning feeling of wrongness again. Knew something horrible was coming. And soon.
Faye draped the blanket over Henry as best she could. His legs would stick out the bottom, but it wouldn’t be for long. Just a few feet – assuming, that was, Henry had mastered his new body enough to actually be able to climb into the dumpster.
“Here we go,” Faye said, and smiled again. This time it felt more natural. Looked more at ease on her face.
Henry just nodded, looking grim.
She poked her head out the back, saw Steve with a small crowd of people gathered around and near him. She couldn’t hear everything he was saying, but she caught wisps of sentences: “… called here by an elderly man…” “… collapsed outside the building…” “… didn’t tell us the apartment number…” “… could’ve had a stroke, wasn’t thinking clearly, maybe crawled off to try to get some help?…”
Everyone wore concerned looks on their faces, eager to be of help in finding this fictitious elderly stroke victim – or at least eager to appear wanting to be of help.
It wasn’t perfect, but it was their best shot. “Now, Henry!” Faye whispered. “I’ll guide you to the edge of the dumpster, then you hop in as quick as you can.”
When Henry’s weight left the ambulance, the shocks groaned again. Faye and Henry moved as silently as they could across the roughly ten feet of distance between the vehicle and the dumpster. Faye risked a quick glance at Steve and the crowd.
No one looking their way.
Henry reached the edge of the dumpster (thankfully the lid was open), reached up, felt around blindly for the lip, hoisted himself up, dropped in. He landed on a bed of snow and garbage bags. The container was nearly full of the bags, but when his full body weight hit them, he pancaked them down, and still hit the bottom – but with a muted enough sound that no one looked over.
Faye then walked as casually as possible over to Steve and his crowd of concerned citizens. Steve saw her, and promptly wrapped up his story. “Well, I really need to get back to the hospital, but if anyone sees or hears anything about this call, please let us know. Thanks, everyone, for your concern. Keep an eye out.”
Steve turned and walked back to the ambulance, got in, drove away.
The crowd dispersed, muttering to each other about what a shame it was, which old man from their building it could’ve been, etc.
Faye looked at the dumpster as she walked through the doors of her apartment building, her heart in her throat. Hoping to hell and back that today was not a pickup day.
Across the street, Edward Palermo, hidden in shadows till now, walked slowly away.
That day turned out not to be a garbage pickup day, but Faye thought she was going to have a heart attack every time she heard a big truck go by or, worse yet, pull into the apartment building’s parking lot.
The hours dragged like they were weighed down by immense anchors. Faye did everything she could think of to distract herself – watched TV, surfed the internet, played what felt like a thousand games of solitaire – but evening was slow in coming. The window of her apartment darkened by infinitesimal degrees. When night finally fell, it felt like a cool balm on her shoulders: her back and neck muscles relaxed, and she felt like she could pull in a full breath for the first time all day.
Just a few more hours, Henry. Hang in there. Just a handful of hours, then we’re safe.
And there was that word again. No matter how often she said it in her mind, it never felt true. What did she think was going to happen once he was inside? He’d get a job, they’d be roommates, and everything would work out just fine? Ridiculous. This was easily the stupidest thing she’d ever done, and she had no clue why she was even doing it. Sure, they’d been dating for about a year, but there was something more than that at work here. She felt it like a baseline thrum under her skin. Something compellingly, inherently strange. She didn’t understand her actions, but somehow they felt right. Was she saving him from something terrible? Probably. But what? What would actually happen to him if he was discovered?
Thinking these thoughts, puzzling over things from every angle, she drifted off into a fitful sleep.
Milo had huddled inside the dumpster with Henry, waiting for darkness.
Every once in a while, a building tenant would dump a bag of garbage or a piece of furniture on them, but other than that it was fairly silent. Just the sprinkling of snow and Henry’s strange heartbeat.
Milo wasn’t sure if it changed, but for whatever reason he was able to hear it quite distinctly. It wasn’t the regular heartbeat he’d had (and assumed Henry had, too); this one was a triple beat: thud-thud-thud… thud-thud-thud…
Henry nodded off a couple of times while Milo watched – each time groaning in his sleep, as if distressed by something. Milo could only imagine what weird new dreams Henry must be having. What dreams come when someone physically transforms into something else?
Once night fell, visits to the dumpster petered out entirely, and it was just the susurration of the nearby traffic that interrupted the quiet. Even the snow had let up for the most part.
Then, a few hours later, an engine that Milo recognized: an ambulance. He lifted himself out of the dumpster, hovered above the lip to see Steve pulling in.
What the hell was he doing back?
Steve got out of the vehicle, headed toward Faye’s building.
Faye’s breathing had steadied, and she was in a deep sleep when she heard faint knocking coming from somewhere. The knocking became more insistent as she surfaced through the thick webbing of her dreams. Suddenly, it was like the knocking was coming from inside her skull.
She groaned, sat forward, rubbed her head, then headed toward the door, wondering who the hell it was. She was expecting no one, and she didn’t have friends who just dropped by.
She opened the door a crack to see who it was, looked out into the hallway.
“Steve? Why are you here?”
Steve stood in the hallway, trying to put a look of concern on his face. It fit about as well as ten pounds of shit in a five-pound bag.
What Faye didn’t know, and what Steve wasn’t about to tell her, was that he’d thought of little else but Henry all day – and that, coupled with the fact that Henry’s transforming body had actually stuck in Steve’s mind (where in his normal form, it wouldn’t have), explained his presence here now.
“Just thought I’d see how everything went. Didja get him in yet?” He poked his head around the side of the door, trying to get a peek inside.
“No, I was –” she glanced back to the couch where she’d fallen asleep “– just watching some TV, playing some games, then I guess I nodded off.”
“Oh, well, you gonna get him? Want some help?”
This from the guy who couldn’t get away fast enough earlier that day, terrified – rightly so – of losing his job, or at the very least facing a harsh reprimand. Faye wanted to ask how he’d talked his way out of the situation, but found that she barely cared. Her mind hadn’t fully awoken yet, was still swimming between sleep and the waking world, as yet undecided which it preferred.
“What time is it?” she asked, looking around the room, trying to remember through the fog of sleep where on the wall the clocks in her living room were located.
“Just past eleven,” Steve said, then just stood there, waiting.
“Christ!” Faye said and opened the door wider, letting Steve in. She motioned him to the couch. “Sit down. I just wanna change. Been in this uniform all day. Be back in a second.”
She scurried to her bedroom down the hall. Came back a few minutes later wearing jeans and a T-shirt. She carried a big blanket. Much bigger than the one from the hospital. “Alright, let’s go.”
Steve’s odd behavior niggled a little at the back of Faye’s brain as they headed out into the hall. She had known Steve would help her when she asked this morning, but he’d never been the type to follow up in this manner once he’d lent a hand. He wasn’t the overly considerate type in general. Maybe his return was tied to his apparent romantic interest in her – which she’d never suspected before he’d tried to put his arm around her.
Or maybe it was just that he was privy to an incredible secret, and was simply intensely curious now. Perhaps a combination of these factors.
Whatever the reasons for his return, she had no time to consider them right now; they had to get Henry out of the dumpster – it was already well past the time she should’ve gone for him, and she was terrified now that she would look inside and he would no longer be there.
Downstairs in the dumpster, Milo’s sense of something being incredibly wrong suddenly kicked him in the chest. And it wasn’t only that Faye should have come for Henry hours ago.
Whatever it was, he felt it coming. Soon.
It began snowing heavily again.
Faye made note of how many people they passed as they walked the four flights down the stairs. Exactly one: a young guy taking his dog for a walk. That was it. But even one was too much. Too risky. She thought briefly of trying to get Henry to the elevator, then realized he probably weighed too much for that. His weight, plus hers and Steve’s would easily tip the scale, and the last thing they needed was for the elevator to break down, or worse, for the line to snap entirely. No way to get out of that one.
No, it would have to be the stairs.
When they reached the rear entrance, she turned to Steve, said, “Wait here. I’ll go get him. You be my eyes for this stretch of hallway. If we can get him to the stairwell, we should be OK.”
Steve nodded, again with that weird look on his face.
Something in Faye’s gut flipped over, settled strangely, and she wondered again why he’d bothered to come back.
Faye walked out the doors, looked both ways, crunched her way through the fresh snow toward the dumpster. Once beside it, she whispered, “Henry, it’s Faye. I’m going to take you inside now. Don’t say anything, just stand up as best you can without being seen. I’ll toss a blanket on you, then you’ll need to climb out. As quietly as you can.”
She heard shuffling sounds inside, one semi-loud crash as Henry’s elbow or knee connected with the side of the bin. She looked around quickly again. No one in sight. She craned her neck back – no one hanging out on balconies. Too cold and snowy for that. She thanked the universe this hadn’t all fallen at her doorstep in the middle of summer.
She looked back to the dumpster, saw the tip of Henry’s great metal cranium peek out from the top, and whispered, “Down! Lower!”
Henry’s head dipped a bit. She flung the blanket up and over the lip of the bin; it settled on his head, then draped him entirely. Or at least as far down as it could go before coming to rest on garbage bags and old coffee tables.
“Climb out,” Faye said. “Do it as quickly and quietly as you can, Henry.”
She stepped back, kept an eye out for any movement. She glanced back toward the building, imagining for a crazy moment that Steve would be gone, having panicked. She wouldn’t put it past him to have just fucked off somewhere at the very moment she needed him. But he was still there. Nervously shuffling from foot to foot, sure, but he stood right where she left him. He moved his head side to side as she watched. When he noticed her looking, he gave her a thumbs up. She returned it, feeling ludicrous.
Henry hoisted himself up surprisingly gracefully. He knocked once more against the dumpster as he pulled himself up with his massive arms, but it was even quieter than the first time. His right foot settled on the edge of the bin, then he was over, landing – once again – more gracefully than she’d ever have thought possible.
He crouched low, stayed as small as he could, and didn’t move a muscle until he heard her say, “I’m going to put my hand on your head and just position you in the direction of the doors. When I say ‘go,’ move forward as quickly as you can, got it?”
A slight nod from beneath the blanket.
She put her hand on his head, angled it slightly, as close to the center of the doors as she could, said, “Go,” then they were both moving – she, as casually as possible; he, crouched, blind, and shuffling.
The doors seemed a mile away now, and the snow crunching underfoot sounded like it was amplified through enormous speakers aimed right at her face. Her head swiveled back and forth, eyes peeled for any sign of movement. Nothing, not even the young guy walking his dog.
Faye reached the doors, opened them both as wide as she could, moved out of the way, whispered down to Henry, “Doorway.” In response, he made himself smaller yet.
She moved ahead of him once he was through, got to the second set of doors, used her key on them, said again, “Doorway,” and held them as wide as possible.
Both sets of doors cleared, she looked again toward Steve, who was more nervous than ever, but still stood his ground.
If Faye had been thinking clearly, she would have been even more distraught than she already was. She had forgotten about the lobby security camera.
I’ll deal with that later. Can’t worry about it now.
“We good?” Faye said to Steve. “Nothing, no one?”
“Not a soul, not a sound,” Steve said, walked in time with Faye as they headed down the short hallway toward the stairwell.
Holy Jesus, we’re almost there, Faye thought, her heart hammering, palms sweating madly.
Milo drifted in behind them, followed them into the stairwell. Henry’s dead shadow.
Faye eased the door shut behind them. They were in the stairwell now. Four flights and one more hallway to safety.
Safety. Christ, don’t even think the word.
“Grab a coupla corners of the blanket and lift them, Steve. Make sure he doesn’t trip up the stairs.”
“Got it.”
Up they went. One floor, two, nearly three.
Then the door to the stairwell opened on the ground floor. Faye, Steve, and Henry all froze. Heard someone talking in pet voice.
That fucking young guy and his dog. Shit! Faye thought.
The dog barked once, twice, then they heard it and its owner climbing the stairs. They reached the first floor, were heading for the second… which is when the second-floor stairwell door crashed open with a loud bang, and a woman and her dog burst out onto the landing.
“Hey, Marcy, just came back from our late-nighter,” the young guy said. “Weather’s a bit shit, but not too horrific. Shouldn’t be that sludgy.”
“Sweet,” the woman said, one of those annoying every-word-is-a-question lilts to her nasally voice. “Don’t wanna make it a long one, anyway. Just ’round the block.” She bent toward her yippy little dog, said, “Isn’t that right, my little boo-boo? Yes, it is!”
And she was off, tromping down the stairs in what sounded like heels.
“’Night, Marcy,” the guy called after her, but she didn’t reply. “Stupid bitch,” Faye heard him mutter as he entered the second-floor door. It slammed shut behind him.
The ground-floor door slammed seconds afterward.
Silence. Hearts beating hard, fast. Nearly leaping out of chests.
“Go,” Faye said, motioning Steve ahead of her impatiently. “Go, go, go.”
Steve bounded up the last flight of stairs, opened the door to the fourth floor, poked his head out, saw no one, held it for Faye and Henry. “Clear,” he said.
Less than twenty feet to her apartment now. The hallway stretched ahead of them like in a nightmare. Fifteen, ten, five –
– key frantically in lock, twisting, turning, head on a swivel, scanning the hallway –
– then… inside.
Faye closed the door as quietly as she could behind her. She lifted the blanket off Henry. He blinked against the sudden light, glanced around the apartment. Stretched himself as tall as he could under the eight-foot-ceiling, which still left him hunched, but it was better than being crouched and shuffling blindly under a blanket. He smiled a little, looked at Steve, nodded, said, “Thanks” in his hewn-from-rock voice.
Steve just looked away, then looked back, tried to hold Henry’s gaze, found he couldn’t. He managed a general nod, which was good enough for Henry.
Once they’d had a chance to catch their breath, Faye said, “I’m gonna go make us some coffee, settle our nerves. Henry, don’t sit on any of my furniture. I don’t need any kindling right now, OK?”
For a moment, Henry didn’t understand, but then he got it, nodded.
“Go sit on the floor for now, till I can figure out something more comfortable for you.”
Faye walked to the kitchen. Steve stood just inside the front door, staring at Henry. They locked eyes for a little too long just then, and Henry saw something in Steve’s eyes he recognized very well: fear. But not just fear. Fear coupled with stupidity.
Milo hovered beside Henry, feeling the situation coming slowly to a head. That feeling of wrongness becoming nearly palpable, filling the air between them.
Steve glanced down the hallway, back to Henry, pulled out a cell phone, flicked on the camera app. “I won’t show anyone, Henry,” he said. “I just want this so I can convince myself later that it really happened. Even though you’d think this would stick hardcore, after I left, I had trouble holding on to your image in my mind. It kept slipping away.” He lifted the phone and aimed it in Henry’s direction. “I knew I needed to come back, to prove to myself–”
And then one of Henry’s massive hands flicked up quickly from his side, shot forward, and popped Steve’s head like a grape.
Blood, bone, and gristle sprayed out from between Henry’s fingers, splattered the wall behind Steve. He crumpled to the ground. Bled onto the carpet and hardwood floor. Henry took three steps backward, just staring at what he’d done. A few minutes later, Faye returned from the kitchen with the coffee.
When she saw Steve’s body, she stopped dead, her mouth fell open just a little, then she very deliberately moved over to the nearest flat surface, placed the coffee cups on it, and said almost too quietly for Henry to hear: “What have you done?”