Body of Immorality (14 page)

No, this wasn’t lunacy. This was worse. This was madness at its finest!

The beauty, however, was how they glowed. Illuminating the dark was that same flaxen hue. But even the light failed to penetrate the black.

BAM! BAM! BAM! BAM!

Eric laughed at his ridiculous determination. He picked a staircase leading upward. His broken limbs carried him on. How that was, he didn’t know. He didn’t question the impossibility of how his legs were able to keep him upright, how he was able to…
move.
He was walking on his ankles, shards of bone splitting through his flesh, leaving trails of blood on the steps. His view (since his neck was broken) was only where he could move his eyes. He could not lift his head and tried hard not to stare at his feet. His spine had twisted during his previous fall, arms dangling crooked and useless at his sides. Because his neck was shattered, he looked at everything in a sideways, upside-down view.

Maybe it’s down there,
he thought,
the sound, in the blackness all around…

It wasn’t the steps, he realized. They didn’t lead anywhere at all…

Eric stopped running and contemplated something new. Dawning reality lighted his brain. Whatever it was, it would be different, right?

He smiled.

A memory came into focus—an old dog, a white house he might’ve lived in at one time. Didn’t he have a wife, too? What had he come down here for anyway? Coffee? Milk? The photo album?

Eric didn’t know, couldn’t remember. Instead, he focused on the surrounding, impenetrable black and smiled.

He had resolve, a plan! He would get that little bastard, the origin of sound, the one who’d called to him, led him down here in the first place! To get there, he had only one thing left to do…

He tried to nod, but his bleeding head swayed back and forth.

Eric Durgess launched himself over the edge and into the dark…

He would find it…He would die trying…

The bottom became his goal. Whatever, whenever that was…the sound he would make when he got there…

If
you reach the bottom,
he thought.

But he didn’t listen.

“
Yessirree,”
he shouted, plummeting through the dark…

Big, white, beautiful paradise…

“
Bam! Bam!”
he cried.

But only the endless wind rushed coldly by.

Dreams of Blood

It was still light outside, despite the gray, bleak February, a cold, lazy afternoon on a Tuesday. He was home already from a long hard day at work, a rough day trying to keep his eyes open as he drove the trucks.

But it was like clockwork now. When Harper Ellis came home, he went right to the couch, plopped his length upon it, and threw his arm over his eyes. He was asleep in seconds.

You’re always so tired anymore, Harper,
he told himself.
What the hell’s the matter with you?

He didn’t know. The sleepy bug had bitten him. The sleepy bug had come and taken his life away. It was biting him when he woke up, and it was gnawing at him throughout the day. It had been going on for months now.

You should start exercising,
he thought.

The thought of exercising made him tired. Where was he supposed to get the energy to exercise? He couldn’t remember the last time he’d made dinner, watched a football game, or read the morning paper. How long did a guy have to sleep, for God’s sake? Wasn’t fourteen to sixteen hours enough? Why did he need
more?

The sleepy bug’s made you a zombie. You are not in control of your body! Quit distracting me! Can’t you see I’m trying to get some shut-eye?

Harper listened to his body, did what it told him. Was that so bad? It was telling him to sleep now.

Body talks,
he thought.
Shut-up! I don’t want to miss this!

Sleep, Harper. ‘Sleep and dream. That’s all we crave. We travel far across the Milky Way.’

He’d been singing the lyrics to “Love Comes Walking In” by Van Halen for a while now. The line ran through his head more than The Bug Who Ruled Sleep.

Maybe he was ill.

And where was Helen lately? Didn’t she care about him? Was she somewhere beyond the walls of sleep, trying to get through? Was she…naked?

The thought put a smile on Harper’s face.

He wasn’t hungry anymore, either, but he looked just fine. He looked fit. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten was all. Harper Ellis went to the store sometimes to purchase food,
reminding
himself he needed to eat, only to watch it expire and turn to mold in the fridge. He knew he
must
be hungry. His stomach would start growling any minute, any second…

But no. Never.

He was content to lie sleeping, going to McDonalds late in the night without realizing it, apparently. He was sleepwalking. That must be it. He’d never thought it possible, never believed it, but here he was now. He
was
a sleepwalker. He was a drive-thru guy by night, taking the Volvo to Micky D’s in a sleepy, hungry blackout, pigging out on Big Macs and fries.

The worry (He didn’t have time for it because of sleep.) began when he forced a chocolate bar down his throat. Minutes later—body rebelling—it came back up: an eruption of acid and chocolate staining the shiny white porcelain toilet in a sick, brown splash.

Sleep had taken over. He wasn’t hungry, yet he wasn’t losing any weight. If he could stay awake long enough to realize it, he
might
begin to worry.

Best to sleep…

Harper waited, looking for Helen, but she never came by, either. When she knocked on the door, he slept right through it. When he
did
hear the knocking, he covered his ears with the pillow. He dreamed dreams without Helen. She’d be furious.

He awoke with the same exhaustion after sleep, as if he’d been awake for days and hadn’t slept at all. He knew it happened. Too much sleep often caused
more
fatigue. Shouldn’t enough rest eventually keep him from sleeping at all?

It was troublesome, but he wasn’t awake enough to realize the trouble he was in. He had enough sense to get up and go to work. That was all. Harper was dedicated to his job.

Sleep, perchance. My lifelong lover. You were my benefactor all along.

Sleep, for Harper Ellis, became an entity.

He looked forward to it. He loved sleep. Craved it. He built his life around sleep’s philosophies. He’d paint the words on the front door in large, impossible-to-ignore-letters:
DO NOT DISTURB!

He lived his life swinging from hotel doorknobs. Sleep and dream, all he craved. Harper smiled. He knew that song better than anyone else.

Where
was
Helen?

You know, sometimes you just have to sleep, honey. Fourteen to sixteen hours is okay. It’s healthy. Doctors say
not
living a life is actually better than if you
had
lived one. Go figure, huh? That’s just the wild, mysterious universe we live in, sweety! I knew you’d understand.

Maybe Helen wouldn’t see it quite like that. How would
he
react if it were Helen sleeping all the time? She might’ve forgotten about him by now, started seeing someone new.

You’re going to lose your girl, too.

Harper knew what she’d say. She’d tilt her head, lovely, liquid green eyes looking into his—pretty, roseaceous lips trying to grin.

“What are you trying to do, babe, sleep your life away?” she’d say.

Harper had lost his sense of self. He questioned the person in the mirror every day now. He didn’t know who he was anymore, when the bills were due. He’d forgotten every priority.

He hated being bothered, too, as if his solitude (the perfect thing for sleep) was a problem for everyone but him.

Of course, we can get along. If you leave me the hell alone, we’ll get along great! We’ll be pals! We’ll be fine! See how easy it is? See how things work themselves out?

Sleep had a redeeming quality: he simply didn’t care. In all actuality, it wasn’t a bad way to live.

It’s liberal,
Harper thought.
The way I like it.

Because of sleep, it was impossible to worry.

I’ll get a check-up later. Can’t you see I’m trying to sleep!

Helen would find a way to jimmy the lock. She’d rouse him from his perfect wonderland. She’d wonder why he hadn’t taken himself to a doctor.

I’m too tired to go to a doctor.

Her voice came to his mind:

Jeez, Harpsey, a cup of coffee? Something? Anything to get you motivated, get you moving and out the door! Turn on some lamps. Just because its winter doesn’t mean the sun doesn’t shine. How can you stand all this gloom?

He
enjoyed
sleep was the thing, something peaceful about the dead winter landscape, as if a part of him were reaching out, an eternal connection.

What month was it anyway? Did it matter anymore? The snow fell, still heavily. What more did he need to know than that it was winter?

How long
had
this being going on, he asked himself?

Sleep replied:

What the hell did I tell you about that worry-crap?

Just some privacy, some respect to drift away and never come back. Why did people always have to ruin a good thing?

He was (no pun intended) getting tired of it.

Silence alone and the darkness of sleep.

Harper let his thoughts go, a mentor heeding his every command.

Yes, no worry, not now. Leave worry for the waking world.

On the living room couch, Harper fitted the pillow comfortably over his eyes, and drifted away…

He was asleep in seconds.

*

It was good he couldn’t remember his dreams because they were ruinous. When he awoke, blood dripped over the world he knew.

Did he play some bloody, amphibious role while he dreamed?

He had gills. He was a blood fish, wading through red currents of water.

That isn’t me,
Harper told himself.
I don’t normally wade through rivers this color. I don’t even like those kinds of stories.

He came up for air, closing his eyes against a scarlet hue. Blood spread against his face as his head split the surface. Content, he dove into the water again.

The sun was a feeble, rose-colored ball shining through the surface of the bloody water. He’d always preferred the color blue instead.

Not remembering his life, Harper dove deeper into the blood of sleep. Something like a slaughter was going on down here, and he loved every minute of it.

*

The main shipping warehouse for Benny’s Cola was stationed in Longmont, Colorado. Rumors suggested Benny’s was going nationwide. Benny’s Cola was a tasty Colorado Cola, capturing thousands of taste buds across the state.

Harper’s was one of the main routes. He delivered to local grocery stores, supplying two-liter bottles, twelve packs, six packs, 20 ounce bottles, and one liters (for mightier thirsts). His main stops were Boulder, Louisville, Lafayette, Broomfield, and, of course, the local Longmont area. It was a full day’s work.

He’d slept through the afternoon and the whole night after coming home yesterday afternoon. It was Wednesday morning now. He’d had enough sense to get up off the couch during the evening, change, go to the bedroom, and sleep for the rest of the night without worry. When the alarm clock went off at 4:45 a.m., Harper showered, brushed his teeth, and put on a clean uniform. He didn’t remember doing any of this.

Light snow spiraled through the air in the Benny’s Cola parking lot when he stepped out of the Volvo. It was eight minutes to six. He was too tired to realize how cold it was, and appreciated what he did for a living.

Driving,
Harper thought, and rubbed his eyes.
The surest thing—when long behind the wheel—to make you sleepy.

Snow tickled his ears and nose as he walked across the parking lot. He hadn’t combed his hair, and it hung into his puffy brown eyes now. February’s air was wicked, nipping at his bones, digging into his skin. The sun had yet to lighten the sky.

Cynthia, an eighteen-year-old blonde, sitting at the desk in the lobby, looked concerned when he stepped inside. She said good morning but frowned at him.

Harper walked by the desk, down the hall, and into the break room where he punched in at the time clock. Again, walking past Cynthia (she raised her eyebrows, filing her nails, chewing bubblegum), Harper stepped through another door and into the warehouse. Another February chill blew in from the open docks where Jason Toofey was loading the trucks with a forklift.

Jason, a paunchy nineteen-year-old with glasses and bright red acne, owned a pension for blackberry soda and candy bars. He was loading a pallet with 20 ounce bottles onto one of the Hesseys. Hesseys were the route trucks, smaller than the fifth-wheel Harper drove. While Harper supplied grocery and department stores in the local Colorado region with Benny’s Cola, Hesseys were for smaller convenient stores and pop machines.

At Benny’s—if you worked there—the cola was free.

The job has its perks,
Harper thought.

A radio in the corner blasted ’80’s metal, a little too loud for this early in the morning.

Harper’s brain was hazy, befuddled by fog. He was still trying to pry his eyes open when a gust of winter wind rushed in from the open dock to his right. Harper shivered and hugged himself against the chill.

Winter had snuck up on him. He couldn’t remember Christmas. Nothing sounded better right now, however, than a nice warm blanket, a soft pillow, and the blackness behind his lids.

Something in this winter,
Harper thought.
Strange about it. As if life has spiraled out of control without my consent. You could have at least
asked
me first.

Harper’s cheeks were ruddy and raw with the cold. His nose ran. His ears stung. He detested waking to cold mornings, having to go to work. Everyone should be able to call in sick through the winter, he thought. Corey, his boss, could’ve invested in a space heater, at least.